Definitely, Maybe
by savingophelia
Summary: It wasn't just the eyeliner, or the weird detatched stare; there was something about her roommate, and Clarke wasn't about to surrender her first year at college to this awkwardness. / Clexa college AU, with appearances from everyone we know and love. Complete. \
1. Chapter One

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Welcome to my first Clexa fic! If you know me well, you'll understand my affinity for college AUs. (I understand how American college/uni works now.) (I'm very proud of myself.) If not, welcome aboard. Have a biscuit and enjoy your stay. Since I don't have internet where I live, updates may be sporadic, although I'll aim to post once a week. Since Lexa's background (and several other things) is somewhat murky on the show, I'm taking a bit of artistic liscence.

**Also starring**... Sassy mechanic! Raven, Adorable Linctavia, Fanatical professor! Jaha, Bellamy With Good Intentions, rock-and-roll TA Anya, Uno Gangsters, 1000% Done Murphy, Team Jaspmayonty and also reapers, but not in the way you might think.

1.

"I can handle the next box, Mom - Mom, Mom, okay, okay -" Clarke collapsed onto her new bed, and wondered if she'd ever get used to that squeak.

There were a lot of things she wondered if she'd get used to. Like the constant torrent of people talking and laughing and living, noise cascading through the thin, white-painted door. Or the prospect of fraternities just across the lawn. And then there was _the roommate problem_, which still seemed to be dodging her. Maybe it'd avoid her until it ran itself into the ground.

Her mom was frowning. Abigail Griffin was not a particularly frowny person (nor a particularly smiley one.) but Clarke was sure this was the right situation for it. In the pocket of her jeggings, she could feel the vibration of yet another text from Raven buzzing in through her battered phone. "Honey," Abby sighed, placing the plastic box of books on top of her empty dresser, in a way that made Clarke's temples throb with impending annoyance. She knew what was coming next. "I don't know. Don't you think you should at least meet this girl before you go -"

"Mom,"

"And you know where the nearest grocery store is?"

"Mom."

"Fine, I'm stressing! I'm stressing," Abby glanced at her watch and then back at Clarke. "You want me to leave?"

Clarke's phone gave another insistant buzz as she tried to look sincere. "No, no," Somewhere outside the window, people were being loud. Jaha Wood was reknown for being a decent, diverse university, so she was sure she wasn't being stupid, that the amount of frat houses she'd seen _was_ weird. "It's just that I told everyone we could all eat together, and I need to unpack, and -"

"I'll go," Clarke rose obilgatorily to join the hug her mother was offering. "Back to my sad and lonely nest. I'm gonna miss you. Don't talk to any frat boys. Call me. I love you. I love you." And like ripping off a plaster, she was out the dormitory door before Clarke could say anything more than the instinctive love you, too.

But she wasn't going to focus on her mom right now. This was college. Fresh start. Ninety-seven miles south of the past. And she had to unpack. Which, apparantly, her mystery roommate had already done, claiming the bed closest to the door. Clarke found herself shooting several fretful glances that way as she dropped to her knees and ran her penknife along the seam of one of her clothes boxes, loading folded shirts and jeans into the drawers of the bedside table. All she knew about the girl she would be spending the looming year within throwing distance of was that her name was Lexa, and that she had been peculiarly missing during freshmen orientation a few weeks before. (And while Clarke had been going to pieces over how many photos was too many for days, her roommate's side of the room seemed bizarrely bare. Weird, pattered scarlet-auburn sheets. Stacked notebooks. Clunky black laptop. Meticulously organized eye makeup.) (On second thoughts, maybe she had only half unpacked.)

At another violent vibration from deep inside her pocket, Clarke supposed she should probably send Raven a reply. Her background photo was a botched group selfie, slightly mutilated by the crack creeping up from the corner of her screen. Six new messages. Great.

The first was from Jasper. _The eagle has landed!_ She felt herself smile, so she texted back a thumbs up emoji, and a_ still unpacking_. As she'd expected, the next three were Raven's. Her name and her goofy, grinning contact picture still sent Clarke's stomach knotting. Things had been weird, for what seemed like forever, after they started seeing each other in groups again, after the phase of enraged silence. But summer had brought tentative toddler steps toward friendship, and now, she supposed, to any outsider, it would have looked normal again. It didn't feel normal. It felt like... She didn't know. It felt like some phantom Finn was still lingering there between them. Uneasy in the shade. Like a stain they couldn't quite scrub out.

Maybe Raven felt the same, maybe she didn't, but either way, she'd been going nuts over the Engineering and Mechanics programme here, and she'd been texting everyone all day. _And the Rave-tavia party dorm is open for business!_ Recieved about an hour before Clarke and Abby had arrived.

_Everyone still up for christening the cafeteria together?_ Group message.

_Griffin, you around yet?_

Why couldn't everyone just stop _fussing_? She keyed in a hasty reply and thumbed through the two texts from her mom. One read like a after-school special listing of illicit activities to avoid at all costs. The second was an apology for the first. She'd call her back later. The next time Clarke looked at the clock on her phone, two and half hours had dissolved, and she had a halfway decent living space. The dorm was small, but she'd managed to stow most of her shoes and art stuff in clear boxes beneath the bed, and the standard airy college curtains tied back from generous windows gave almost an impression of space. She was lining up books along the sill, having given up on fixing her lamp after recieving several mild shocks, when her ringtone exploded to life and scared the shit out of her. _Jesus. Glad the roommate's AWOL now, huh?_ Octavia. Clarke swiped the answer button.

"Griffin!" She winced at the sudden, remarkable decibel of her friend's voice so suddenly assaulting her ear. "Clarke Griffin - in my phone!"

"Yeah," Assuming this was the call to the big canteen-christening of '15, she scrabbled for a pair of boots under the beds, tossing Octavia's speakerphone-loud greeting onto the pillow and pulling on her shoe. "Are you high?"

"No, idiot, I'm happy. College! Parties! Courses! Friends!" _Slightly worried about the order of those._ "We're all going down to the caf at Kane Hall, that's where you live, right?"

"Yep," Clarke grabbed her dorm key and wondered if she was ever actually going to see her roommate. "I'll see you in a sec."

"Laters,"

Should she leave a note? For the mystery roommate? Whatever. Clarke heard the door click shut satisfylingly, and then the less satisfyingly, an unintelligible jamb as she fruitlessly attempted to yank her key back from the lock. _Shit._ She could feel the anger boil in an uncomfortable prickling in her face._Shit shit shit shit shit_. Left. Right. Out. Her key wasn't going anywhere. Well, she couldn't just leave it like that. It was shit like this that they left out of the damn brochures. For some reason she decided it would be a good idea to slam her fist against the lock, which succeeded in reddening her hand and rattling the key in an unnerving and entirely useless way. "Need a hand, there?"

Clarke spun irritibly to find a muscular, shaven-headed guy in a faded Bon Jovi t-shirt, attatching his dorm key onto a crowded keyring. "What's it look like?" She hated the way that had come out. But she had a right to be rattled.

"Here," He brushed past her and reached for her grey-capped key, "You turn it this way a little, then back left all the way. See?" She saw. Clarke filled her lungs and calmed herself, taking the key from his offer. "Had a friend in there last year. I'm Lincoln, by the way,"

"Clarke," Clarke offered begrudgingly. "Thank you,"

"No problem," The guy - Lincoln - shrugged, hefting his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Well. I gotta run, or Professor Wallace'll skin me. Never sign up for TA-ing."

That snagged in her thought process. "Professor Wallace as in Professor Wallace Senior from the Mount Weather campus?" She forced a smile, for the sake of potential future classmates. "You're an art student?"

He returned her smile, except his was more genuine. "I'm still trying stuff out, but yeah, for the minute. I'm liking it."

"Cool. Anyway... See you in class, maybe?" Clarke had had to whine and wheedle and send sketch after sketch before the board let her in to the advanced Practical Art course; freshmen in there were almost unheard of. But she was determined to handle it.

"Yeah," Lincoln nodded, hurrying off down the hallway to the stairwell.

And now I'm late. Retrieving her phone, Clarke started after Lincoln, tapping an on the way to Octavia and flying down two flights to the cafeteria. The whole building was overly signposted, and she was sure she had a pretty good memory anyway. She was hesitating by the Kane Hall main lobby, when they, thankfully, found her. "Clarke!"

"Oh -" Octavia nearly bowled her over, bounding through the double-doors to the cafeteria, followed by Jasper, and Monty, who was taking pictures of everything. Raven looked somewhat amused. "Hi."

"By the way," Bellamy warned, appearing at the tail end of the pack with a smile. "Octavia's gone insane."

"She's just excited. You should try it sometime," Clarke joked, keeping pace with him and following Raven's ponytail into the dining hall. Raven hadn't said anything to her. She'd smiled. That was a good sign.

"Oh, please. It's my second year. Been there, done that,"

"We're back, bitches!" Octavia affirmed too loudly, going to lay her jacket down on a table. By the time they'd all made it back to their chairs with trays loaded, Clarke was a little closer to letting go of her irritibility. (Which, really, she couldn't be blamed for.) (It wasn't her fault she'd dragged the bro code through the mud last year.) (And then stomped on it.) (A lot.) (No - fresh school, fresh start.) "So, guys, how goes the living situation?"

"Dorm Rave-tavia!" Raven whooped, leaning across Jasper to high-five Octavia. Monty coughed something that sounded like ameteurs and Clarke smiled into her sandwich. "What was that, Greene?"

"Jasper's got the hots for the girl across the hall," Monty teased.

"Throw me under the bus, why don't you?" Jasper muttered. Octavia wiggled her eyebrows expectantly. "And I do not have the hots for Maya. She helped me decorate."

"She's a mountain man." Monty offered. "She studied with them all last year, she said so."

"Wait, mountain man? I thought we were talking about a lady," Raven put in.

Monty looked exasperated. "Mountain men. Like, the Mount Weather premeds. It's not a gender term, it's what the grounders round here call them."

Clarke restrained a laugh. "Do I want to know what a grounder is?"

"Seriously, did you not research this place at all? Grounders. Like, all those weird guys - and girls - who all come from 'round here."

Raven was laughing. "Where do you get this information?" Clarke grinned, and then her eyes flickered across the table and caught Raven's for a moment. Shit. You shouldn't he to be uneasy and awkward messing around with your hometown friends. (Then again, you shouldn't have the Finn issue in the first place.) (No. Clarke was not going to be ashamed of her descisions.) "Well, what are we, then?"

"Arkers." Monty answered, plainly, as if that wasn't stupid. "Cause we're from Ark. Or Sky People, cause Ark's in the middle of Sky."

"So, we're all referred to by the names of the cities we come from?" Raven hadn't looked back at her.

"Bellamy, you've been here a year, help me out here,"

"I'm staying out of this,"

"Hey, Clarke," Clarke looked up to see the key guy, Lincoln, from across the hall nod at her as he passed their table. She nodded back, slightly awkwardly. It took her a moment to realize he hadn't looked at her for more than a second - and, Clarke noticed, Octavia hadn't looked at anything since that second. Huh. Maybe things were about to get really interesting.

"Wow, Clarke, who's your friend?" Octavia was grinning at him from across the flourescent-lit cafeteria. "He's hot."

"He's not my friend," Clarke shrugged. "He's Lincoln, he's in the room across the hall." _He taught me how to shut a door, because apparantly that's the kind of thing I need intruction on_. She had a feeling co-ed dorm blocks were a bad idea.

"I propose we all go hang out in Clarke's room." Octavia declared, toying with a mayonnaise-saturated french fry.

"Well, you'll have to check with Clarke's invisible roommate," Clarke balled up the wrapper from her sandwich.

"Well, I say we introduce you all to the wonder of dorm Rave-tavia." Raven interjected.

"I think I'm just going to check out to gym." The words were out of her mouth from instinct. She'd been dodging too much time with Raven up until a few weeks ago; Clarke wasn't a runner; she tackled her problems head on. But old habits died hard. And she really did want to see that gym.

"Girl's a machine," Jasper commented.

"Nice goggles. How's the early 20th centuary pilot look working out for you? Seduce many eligible land girls lately?" Clarke raised her eyebrows, restraining a smirk and trying not to wonder whether it sounded like she was back to avoiding Raven again, particularly with the ignoring the texts situation earlier.

"Shots fired," Octavia commented.

"Hey, I was complimenting you!" Jasper protested.

"Yeah, yeah," Clarke muttered, rising to deposit her tray on the tray thing. "I am going to go muscle up,"

"See ya,"

"Good luck with the roommate, Griffs -"

"Text me back!"

-0-

The brochures of Jaha Woods all bragged about the state of the art gym, free for the first six months of membership, complete with sauna and cafè. Clarke was itching to get into it. She wasn't really a workout freak, or a muscle-obsessed bodybuilder. But she'd joined the gym back in Ark last year, after she'd started running for stress relief. Turns out, excercise was a good outlet for that kind of thing. Plus, it was good to know she could defend herself if the situation demanded it.

The gym was by the sports block, not too far to walk from Kane Hall. When she stopped back at the room to toss her gear and Nikes and headphones and Lucozade into her sport bag, her roommate was still gone. Or maybe she was gone again; her things were untouched. Although the sun was just yeilding to the rising blend of the night, the lampposts were vivid, and the gym was closer than she thought.

She'd signed up on orientation day, and she was just assuring herself she'd actually put, her student ID in her purse, when she saw the girl coming, the other way, and, out of the goodness of her heart, held the door open for her. The girl brushed past her quickly (and damn rudely), but Clarke couldn't stop herself gaping a little bit. Firstly, because_ if looks could kill,_ and secondly, because she was quite fucking beautiful. (And had the most insane eyeliner she'd ever seen.)

All thick, dark hair, and enormous eyes, and terrifying boots, tall and athletic-looking, and_ Clarke, stop checking out the random brunette who looks like she wants to stab you._ What the hell was that? Clarke frowned, slightly concerned, and hurried on into the main room, making a beeline for the cross trainer. Finn really messed her up good.

Thank god she worked out harder when she was annoyed.

Clarke ran into Lincoln in the hallway again, on her way back, but she tried to discourage active conversation due to the fact she couldn't be bothered to shower, and probably smelled as good as she looked. It wasn't that bad. She liked to shower in the morning - fresh start to a fresh day. There was no point going out of her way now; she wanted to get in an early night before her first day.

"Well, glad you know how to work your door now," Lincoln nodded mildly, ducking into his own room as Clarke unlocked her own, feeling like he was only being polite by not mentioning her state. She almost had a fucking heart attack when she registered the other human being in the room.

"Um, hi?" Clarke regained control of her sports bag and tossed it onto her bed, reaching across it for her phone. It was that motion that gave her a clearer view of her roommate.

Fuck.

She could feel her heart tighten into lead and sink through her insides like water. It had to be her. The thousands of students at this damn university and it had to be her. (And Clarke had to formally meet her looking like a pink-faced, tangle-haired monster and reeking like an armpit. Naturally.) "I'm Clarke," She forced the words out and winced at the breathless, just-worked-out-then-ran-up-four-flights-of-stairs quality her voice retained so well. If this didn't set the tone for her upcoming college life, she didn't know what did.

"I'm Lexa," Lexa said, without looking up from her scratched black laptop.

Well.

This was going to be fun.


	2. Chapter Two

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Cheers to everyone who took the time to make a poor weepy fangirl smile by dropping a review, or a favourite. (That sounds like one of those money-shaming adverts about sponsoring a war victim or something. Spare a pound. Save a shipper from the next attack of feels.) To answer a few questions, this is almost slow burn, and will be about 25 chapters, from what I've plotted out. You'll have to hold out for fluff (and Murphy) but I'm proud enough to say it's probably worth it. Anyway, I'm really enjoying myself with this. You can tell, can't you? Keep calm and clexa on, folks.

2.

By her third full day at college, Clarke Griffin had decided three things; firstly, that no matter how hard it strained to, high school could in no way prepare you for it. The amount of work, the people, the lifestyle. It was definitely something. Not a bad something, specifically - but something, all the same. Secondly, there were far too many nightclubs in this city, and there are some people, who will defy odds to accquire a fake ID, no matter what the situation. (Also, some of these people are Octavia Blake.) If the third wasn't as jarring, it might have been more so.

Lexa was weird.

And not in a gimmicky way, or a 'look at me' way, but actually, genuinely strange.

Three days of sleeping in the same room, residing in the same space, and Clarke could count on her hands the number of words they'd exchanged. And while she was glad that Lexa wasn't interested in braiding each others' hair and becoming best friends, (or interested in hitting her), Lexa didn't seem interested in her at all. Clarke wouldn't ordinarily be bothered, but it was so awkward. It wasn't just the eyeliner (she had killer eyeliner), or the detatched stare. And Clarke didn't want to surrender her first year of college to this.

It wasn't as if she hadn't tried. But after a certain amount of snubbed attempts, you kind of give in. Clarke would say, _is it ok if I keep this lamp on?_ And Lexa would say _yeah_. Clarke would say, _do you mind if I shut the window?_ And Lexa would murmur something at sounded like _no_. Clarke would ask if she had a good day and Lexa would say _fine_. It was exhausting.

At least she had her art course to look foreward to. By the time her first Practical Art lecture rolled around, Clarke was antsy with anticipation. And, as she shouldered through the door and took a seat, she was sure everyone else felt the same. They all looked like this was the class they'd been waiting for. And although she instantly knew she was one of maybe two freshmen in the room, she knew she'd made the right decision, that all her whining and frantic sample sketches had paid off. These were all people as passionate as she was.

The hush that descended when Professor Dante Wallace walked in (shockingly unaccompanied by a walking stick) was borderline comical, but Clarke understood; the guy was something of a living legend, although he mostly ran shop over at the Mount Weather campus. He only taught a course once in a blue moon. He studied the gathered students for a moment or two before beginning his introduction. Some people were even taking notes from that, Clarke observed; poised over notepads like predators starving for feed. Facts.

"Hey," Clarke turned, startled, to see Lincoln sitting behind her, tapping his pencil.

"Hi," She whispered back, bluntly as possible. However sad it sounded, she didn't want to disrupt Wallace.

"So. Your assignment for today, to be completed for next week, is a still life. Something which can often be seen as dull, or overdone. I want you to think individually. Which is, after all, the essence of artistry, of creativity, is it not? Show me why you yourselves are suited for this course. And if you can't, then perhaps you're not." Wallace took the seat at his desk shakily, and Clarke frowned. What was he saying? He'd kick you out if you weren't up to standard? She wasn't crazy, this wasn't her overanalyzing.

Well. _No time like the present. _

By some of the older students, Clarke assumed she could just... Start sketching. She'd thought there'd be more preamble. A glance at Lincoln confirmed it; still as blank as her sketchbook regarding what subject to choose, Clarke started to work in shadows and light as a base. That was when she noticed the TA with the nose ring stalking through the students, making comments here and there. From afar, Clarke finally picked up on the odd sense of familiarity; although it wasn't as awesome by a long shot, something in the all-the-way-round eyeshadow reminded her of Lexa. She was just wondering absently wheather all the grounders had a hair and makeup club, where they all eagerly took notes from Lexa, when said TA passed by Clarke. At least, Clarke thought she was going to pass by Clarke. Instead, her brazen stare found the sketchbook's open page, and an eyebrow quirked. "So, what? You think you're all deep and New Age because you're too lazy to pick anything other than air as a subject? Or are you just lacking the capacity for anything else?"

_Jesus Christ. _

Clarke forced herself to swallow the thousand flaming retaliations that spilled from her mind and tried to stay mature as she looked the TA in the eye. "I'm shading a background, if you couldn't tell. I want to make it good rather than make it quick."

"Anya!" The professor was calling from the other end of the room. Wallace had one of those quietly dignified voices, that seemed to carry and demand hush without ever rising. "Spare a moment to discuss the Mod 6 papers?" Clarke gave the deadpan TA - Anya - an expectant look. She went wordlessly. _What a bitch_.

Later, when she was sitting cross-legged on Octavia's bed, eating her way through the small stack of Dominoes pizza they'd ordered, she said as much. Octavia had encountered a grounder team captain when she'd tried out (she thought unsucessfuly) for the girls' soccer team. Indra something. She said she was awful, but Clarke easily detected the slight awe in her voice. "And I don't want to stereotype, or whatever," Raven was saying, chewing on a slice of four cheese. "But most grounders I've met are_ fucking rude,_" Clarke frowned. She didn't know what rubbed her the wrong way about that comment; perhaps it was because she was living with one, or because she actually did like Lincoln, or maybe because she was so used to having weird friction with Raven.

"They're supposed to be pie compared with the Mount Weather campus guys," Monty put in, from where he sat beside Jasper on the floor, animatedly swiping at his Nintendo DS.

"Well that_ is_ a stereotype." Clarke pointed out, tossing an overdone piece of pizza crust into the open boxes between beds. "You _are_ stereotyping."

"They're not all bad," Jasper insisted. "Maya says some of them disagree with the campus prejudices. And the animal testing. She left because of it, and apparantly loads of other people are as well."

"Jeez," Raven wiped her greasy pizza fingers on a tissue. "Sorry. Didn't realize you were so close to them."

"Maya says," Octavia grinned.

"I'm not." Clarke wondered why she was entertaining this. Habit.

"Shut up," Jasper rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you'll all get to meet her soon. Thanks to the plan."

"The plan?" Octavia encouraged, enthralled.

Monty laughed, and Clarke tried to snap out of her argumentative headspace, get into whatever the others were making light of. "Oh, the plan,"

"Laugh all you want, but it's a brilliant plan." Jasper snapped. "Right. Gameplan for getting Maya; step one, the friendship. She lives across the hall. We have little conversations every day, I let her use my kettle - not a euphamism," he added, at Octavia' look. "Step two, the lunch. I know she doesn't have any classes on Friday after 12. Conveiniently, neither do I. We get closer. Step three, the art. She likes all the old paintings and stuff, so one day I'll casually announce I have an extra ticket to whatever exhibition's on at the gallery in town. And bam. In love forever."

"Haven't you known this chick, like, five days?" Octavia sounded mildly interested.

"Eh, I think it's a great plan." Raven shrugged. "'D work on me."

"Five days is long enough for the power of Jaspaya." Monty mocked.

"Go play Sonic the Hedgehog." Jasper muttered. "Thank you, Raven."

Clarke stared at the ceiling. Octavia had stuck a poster of some band called _Beneath the Floorboards_ above her bed. "I wonder if the grounders and the Mountain people get toegther and eat pizza and rip on us." _And get Lexa to teach them makeup tips._

"I bet that Indra's telling all her friends what a sucky soccer player I am right now." Octavia moped.

"Maybe Lexa's bringing me into that." Clarke muttered, mostly to herself, but apparantly only mostly.

"_My Arker roomate has fun, it's so weird,_" Clarke wasn't sure if Raven was attempting to mimic Lexa's voice, and she wasn't entirely sure why, considering she was a thousand percent sure Raven had never heard Lexa speak. Whatever. Had Raven even met Lexa? _It's just a bit of fun, what are you getting so pissy about?_ Nothing. Maybe if Jasper had said it she'd have laughed.

"Well, it's late and I have an early class in the morning." Clarke heard herself saying. "Too much fun."

"See ya, Griffs."

Lexa didn't look up when she got in, and threw her jacket on the floor.

For some reason, that made it worse.


	3. Chapter Three

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Ftr, I really like Raven. Not as much or with the intensity that I love Lexa. (That sounds like an old TV show. Someone write a cheesy I Love Lucy AU.) But I do really like Raven. Clarke is just awkward around her still in this universe because of the Finn-backstory, and an awkward Clarke is a pissy Clarke. I apologize for the slow pace of the first few chapters; the BUILDING BLOCKS will soon have stuff built on them, I have everything plotted out, trust me. You'll be thanking me for the ANTICIPATION building by chapter ten, I swear.

**3.**

_Bang_.

Clarke tore the page from her sketchbook with an undignified sound of frustration. Balled up and sad, it landed somewhere south of the wastepaper basket she was meant to be sharing with Lexa but that always ended up overflowing with the rejects of her retarded creative flow.

_Bang._

"You gonna answer that?" Clarke muttered, glaring the next blank sheet of paper. The minute she put her pencil to the paper the lead snapped. Well, wasn't that the perfect metaphor for the day she'd been having? She'd been lying on her _squeaky_ bed, trying to draw the _same_ empty wine bottle (in a really shitty fake flourescent light as of six) for the _same_ art course since she got out of a horrible Astronomy lecture where fucking _Anya_ (who _fucking_ TA-ed there as well) put her down for some advanced group she hated. And now her pencil was dead. _Bang_.

"It's not for me," Lexa told her with the least interest in her voice Clarke had ever heard. How did _she_ know?

"Hey! Princess Griffs! You gonna let me in?" Octavia.

And now Lexa was right. As usual. Clarke sighed and tossed her sketchbook aside, walking past Lexa's weird, bare side of the room and yanking open the door. Fucking Octavia. Octavia was dressed to go out, and she looked as though she'd attempted create as cool an eye makeup effect as Lexa and the grounders. The results were not so great, Clarke thought - but Clarke was in a bloody mood and she did slept a mere metre away from the reigning queen of epic eyeliner. "Hi."

"Hey, I'm just on my way out with some guys from Ceramics, I passed the building, thought I'd say hi," Octavia glanced behind her, and then back down the hall.

"Ok, I'm - since when do you take Ceramics?" Clarke frowned.

"Since on Tuesday. It's fun."

"Where are you even going, you're underage?"

"Some bar, I have a fake ID. Wanna come?"

"Really no." Apparantly everyone had fake IDs now. Even Monty, and he'd looked about twelve until a few months ago. Raven said she could get Clarke one if she wanted. _College._ "Why are you actually here?"

"The hot cafeteria guy lives here."

"The - Of course." Clarke sighed. "Lincoln went to the gym when Lexa got in. About an hour ago. I don't know if he's back."

"Oh. Hi Lexa!" Octavia called, poking her head through the door. Lexa, who was typing at her worn black laptop, made a noncomittal noise. "Wow. She seems fun. Wow. I gotta go."

"This has been nice." Clarke huffed a runaway strand of hair from her face.

"Bye, Clarke, bye Clarke's mysterious silent roommate!" Octavia danced off down the hall, and Clarke was almost grateful to shut the door.

"Sorry about that." Clarke apologized half-heartedly and sat back down on her bed. Somehow in the minute she had spoken with her friend at the door, it had gone from irritating evening half-light to blackness.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Lexa replied, barely even looking at her.

"So..." Clarke couldn't draw now. The light was disgusting, as was her current flow. She flopped back down onto her bed, contemplating."What're you typing?"

"It's an essay on the relationship between political leaders and generalized moral judgement. For class." Lexa looked so... Focused. And her eyelashes were really long.

"Sounds interesting," Clarke hopped up and closed the curtains, scanning the books along the windowsill for something to read. She was in the mood for nothing. Lexa didn't talk to her again that night. Surprise, _surprise_, surprise.

-0-

"Mom - mom -" Clarke sighed, slamming her head back against her limp pillow. Lexa was out somewhere. Jasper and Maya were 'hanging out', Raven was with her mechanic friends, Octavia was sleeping off her hangover, Bellamy was at his Saturday janitor job, she hadn't seen Lincoln all day, and Monty was busy studying. She had been abandoned. (Or maybe she just needed to make more friends.) "No - Mom, I'm fine -"

She'd been on the phone all morning, trying to explain why she _couldn't_, literally _couldn't_ do premed. Abby wasn't getting it. Yeah, Clarke had thought about being a paramedic, but she'd decided, she had made her own, informed, adult decision to be a starving artist instead. If she wanted to, she could take the fucking premed and go to doctor school in later life and just be an old lady paramedic. She chose art. She was in the art classes. She could not switch now. Not to premed. "Because I'd be completely behind!"

"Okay, well, if you're sure -"

"Mom, I was sure when I decided to do an art major. I was sure when I signed for a room that was not in the Mount Weather premed campus!"

"Alright, I get it -" _You clearly don't._ "You haven't told me what the cafeteria food's like. You've paid for a year of it."

"It's fine, Mom, it's cafeteria food. They do a good lasagna. I get some healthier stuff from the supermarket."

"And the people are nice?"

"Yes. I have friends in most of my classes. I mostly just stay with the Ark squad."

"Good. Say hi to Raven for me, tell her thanks again for fixing the car this summer. Oh - how's the roommate, are you getting along?"

"She's fine. Kinda reserved." _Pfffffft_. "I'm fine, listen, Mom, I have to go - um - study,"

"Okay. I love you, email me! Bye. Bye."

"Love you - Oh." Clarke stared at her phone, suddenly cut off. Oh well. She had a text from Raven. _At Big Boy w/ mechanics people. Come if you want._ Group message. On the one hand, Clarke could go have a burger and make some new friends. On the other, she could take a really long shower, put on sweatpants and read all day. She hardly ever felt sluggish, unmotivated. She was sure she was entitled to indulge in it when it came. She'd been draining herself dry with all the coursework.

It was just like Lexa to turn up at the door (while Clarke was all pink from the shower steam, in her oldest pair of sweats, with her hair in an unflattering ponytail, reading Harry Potter with Kanye West playing at a volume that was low but not low enough) talking to none other than Anya The Monster TA.

Lexa had the door open, but she was standing outside, and Clarke scrabbled to get rid of the Kanye, and - no. Clarke was not going to be ashamed of her Rowling. Harry Potter was a wonderful, diverse series about racism, war, morality and the power of hope and friendship. Also, Quidditch. She'd been working fucking hard - she was on the brink of becoming an overachiever - and she deserved to have a day off if she wanted. Clarke steeled herself and made herself smile a hello at the magical makeup club meeting going on in the doorway. And she was shocked. Lexa was smiling. And talking - well, not _animatedly_, but she wasn't brooding. Anya was smiling. Like they were friends - they _were_ friends, Clarke knew it! And then Lexa did a sort of nod, and they did a sort of elbow-grip handshake thing, and that was the most intimate Clarke had ever seen her be with someone. Lexa shut the door behind her as Anya left.

"You two seem pretty pally." Clarke muttered, mostly to herself, pulling the band out of her hair and shaking it out. Half-Blood Prince leant open against her knees.

She had expected Lexa to ignore her (after too long around Lexa, that happened), so she was almost startled when Lexa opened her mouth as she began undoing that insane coat of hers. "Anya was my tutor throughout high school." Figures. That coat was quite awesome, actually; soft and black and strangely timeless, long and flowing with weird ties all up the sleeves.

Clarke almost said something about how she'd probably be the same if she'd had Anya on her back all high school, but then she remembered that she wasn't a raging bitch and felt slightly guilty. "That must have been interesting." Or maybe she was.

"She's a strong woman, and she's a very good teacher." Lexa told her firmly, sitting on the end of her bed to unlace her (mental) boots.

"Whatever you say," _This is possibly the longest conversation you've ever had, why are you being such a dick?_ Well. Anya, she supposed. Clarke shrugged, and then revised until she went to bed, however much she wanted to keep talking.


	4. Chapter Four

**Definitely,** **Maybe**

**A/N ~** I have to say, I'm a little startled by you lots' response; over a hundred follows in two days? I am seriously in love with all of you. Bear with me, and I swear that by the end of the next chapter the plot will have become plottier. Also, did everyone check out Jamie Brown's new song? The one that's from Clarke's perspective. Both of them brought (several) tear(s) to my eye. #clexaisendgame #keepthefaith

**4.**

"I mean, can you believe this?" Octavia was squinting in the glare of the autumn sun, cold, iridescent fingers of light spraying out from behind the silhouetted jut of the mountain, and the trees, and the ash-grey office blocks.

"We need to go hiking soon." Raven agreed.

"I heard the grounders do a campout by the mountain every semester." Jasper put in. "Maya said something about it. But it won't be for ages."

"Who needs grounders, anyway?" Clarke muttered. It couldn't have been more than four, but the pre-sundown dull had already settled over the street, almost picturesque with Mount Weather and all the border forests in the background. She'd never been into this part of the city before, but the (annoying) artist in her appreciated Octavia's promise of awesomeness - the not-so-far-off mountain did give it something. And the shops were better.

She wished she could do a landscape instead of a still life. She liked landscapes. She could do landscapes, and she had a perfect one right in front of her. (Behind all the shops at flats and offices.) "There's a Starbucks a few blocks from here, I think," Octavia shrugged.

"Stereotypical white girl," Clarke fake-coughed, but she smiled as they followed Octavia's uncertain directions. (Even if Octavia and Monty and Jasper were all the kind of people who ordered ridiculous, fancy idiot drinks.) (That was one reason she liked Raven - They were both no-nonsense coffee people.) (Then she hooked up with Raven's boyfriend while they were working together, hid the whole thing until he told and then practically stabbed his heart out so, there was also that.) As the sun dripped farther below the cluttered horizon, Clarke felt the unmistakeable pre-winter chill crawling into the air. She was nearly happy about it. She'd always thought she'd rather be too cold than too hot, and she _liked_ winter. (For the first month.)

Despite the fact that she'd only every followed her new friends there once, in the dark, possibly drunk, Octavia somehow managed to get them to Starbucks with zero casualties, although the place was absolutely crammed with college students. Everywhere around here was crammed with college students. It was a bit weird, actually. Everyone being her age. Like a low-budget horror movie.

Clarke hung back a little while Octavia rattled off her extremely long and complicated order, and Jasper and Monty seemed to get a kick out of divising fake names, to make some, cursory joke to Raven about drink orders and toddlers. Bridging the divide. Crossing the great unknown. Or just fixing bridges. It almost felt normal again.

Waiting for the others outside, Clarke wrapped her hands around the takeaway coffee cup, revelling in the warmth leaching through the styrofoam into her ungloved hands. She'd settled into the college life now, she reflected. And apart from her mysterious, brooding roommate, it was going swimmingly. "Clarkester!" Octavia materialized beside her, throwing back her chocolate-sprinkled, double-whip, almond-milk cotton-candy frappe with relish. She studied the cup. "Those bitches never can get my name right."

"I'd be a bitch as well if I had dumb white sorority chicks taking selfies with their drinks all the time." Clarke pointed out.

"Drink your boring coffee." She muttered, as the others spilled from the stuffed shop, gasping for air. They were walking back out onto the main street, and Clarke was just thinking how nice this was, when she caught that familiar, terrifying glimmer in Octavia's eye. Dusk was descending on the mountain and the treetops and the shops, and Clarke glanced over at where the Mount Weather campus began, the reception all lit up. In some paralell universe, she was taking premed there. Living in one of those ugly dormitory blocks, with somebody who wasn't an odd, detatched, politically-opinionated grounder queen with insane eyeliner. "We should invade." Octavia stated.

"What?" Clarke frowned.

"We should infilatrade the Mount Weather campus. Maybe we can free some of the poor tester bunnies. Oh my god, we should." Octavia was grinning with a kind of set grimness to her. Well, fuck. Clarke knew that look.

"Are you - are you trying to get kicked out of this place?" Raven wondered.

"We can't," Clarke stated. "Not without a plan, it's a suicide mission." Maybe if they had more manpower. And a real plan. They'd need a map. And possibly an inside man. (There was a slight chance she was running away with this.) But if Octavia was serious, what the fuck was she_ on_? _Well, chocolate-sprinkle, double-whip, almond-milk cotton-candy frappe, actually._ The five of them versus the world was a romantic notion, but it was also fucking stupid.

"Exactly," Raven insisted. "We're not going to accomplish anything by just walking in and trashing labs,"

"Maybe accomplish getting thrown back to Ark at top speed." Clarke muttered. _Provided we aren't arrested first._ She glanced over at Jasper, who looked incredibly torn, Monty, who seemed to have opted out of the whole situation and was gnawing at a hangnail, and that was when she realized that being on the same side as Raven made her almost forget that they'd been avoiding each other all year. Weird thing to bond over. Whatever worked.

"But the bunnies." Octavia insisted. "_But the bunnies_."

Clarke didn't have time to think about what she was saying until she could hear her voice in her ears. "Later. Maybe. If we have a plan."

"Whatever," Octavia paused. "I'm gonna go in."

"Since when do you take _crack_?" Raven exclaimed, the telltale furrowed forehead and flashing eyes of angry-Raven, a Raven Clarke was painfully familiar with.

"I'm not gonna do anything, I'm just gonna go check the place out. Maybe if I tell someone I'm thinking of switching to premed or bio they'll show me around."

"Well I'm going home," Raven muttered, as she stalked off, a tornado in a red leather jacket. Clarke was just glad the storm wasn't headed for her house. "Have fun getting yourself killed!"

Eventually Clarke gave in and met Octavia's expectant stare. Monty had backed away, which made her almost want to laugh. She tapped her fingers against the Starbucks cup. "We really need a plan."

-0-

"Fucking Mount Weather and fucking test bunnies -" Clarke was muttering, ignoring the persistant buzz of an apologetic Jasper filling her phone, shouldering the door open as she yanked off her boots, fingernails digging in to the abused styrofoam of her crumpled coffee cup. She didn't realize Lexa was in until she'd rather violently thrown her jacket on the bed (and cursed up a storm), which was why she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of her.

"Good day?" Lexa murmured, an eyebrow slightly quirked. She was reading a book that almost set Clarke snoring just looking at it. _Like you care. _

"Remind me to shoot the next Mount Weather resident I see." Clarke flopped down onto her bed. It really wasn't that bad; she and her friends had had a disagreement regarding an impulsive idea. An idea she_ might_ consider following up when she was about to graduate and had formulated a foolproof plan. And yet somehow, after a long bus ride home in the rain with Raven, wherein they'd cowardly stuck to their newfound common ground (also known as ranted like hell the whole way), she was actually almost pissed off about the whole thing. And her hair was soaked from the umbrella-less run from the bus stop, which meant she was fricking freezing.

"Remind me to buy you a gun," Lexa replied, placing her tree bookmark in the pages of her book and closing the cover. Did Lexa just... _Continue a conversation?_ Clarke gave a small smile and rummaged around under her bed for a towel.

"Sounds like a plan," She towelled her hair dry half-heartedly. She'd have to shower in the morning if she didn't want a blonde afro. Oh well. Lexa was tough. Clarke was sure she could handle it. "What'd they ever do to you?"

"Not me specifically. People I know. People I grew up with." Lexa set her book aside. "People who tried to make a difference and were thrown out because of it. I'm of the impression it's a corrupt society."

_Sorry I asked._ "I guess." It was okay when it was a rant that bridged the divide between her and one of her dear, old enstranged friends. Somehow hearing someone else jump on board - and so _seriously_ \- weirded Clarke out. "It's a university campus, it can't be that bad."

"Why the sudden optimism?" What also seriously weirded Clarke out was Lexa asking questions. Albeit not very involvedly, and whilst plugging in her laptop, but asking questions all the same.

"I'm a realist." Clarke insisted instictively.

"Whatever you say."


	5. Chapter Five

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** And with this, the thick plottens. Hopefully I'll be dishing you longer chapters from here on out. As always, I'm absolutely buzzing from everyone's lovely feedback and follows. Us clexa-ers need to stick together. (Topic of the week; what do we call ourselves as clexa shippers?) And, just to let you know, there won't be any updates for about a week since I'm going up London till Sunday.

#defendbellarkeallyoulike #butwegotcanonwithinaseaon #ohsnap

**5.**

"I can't believe you haven't done laundry since you got here," Raven was saying, looking utterly repulsed by Octavia's enormous, overflowing laundry basket. Clarke wasn't sure why they thought it would be fun idea - especially after the Mount Weather disagreement - to convince her to come to their building and use their laundry room with them, and she definitely wasn't sure why she agreed, but she was completely certain this laundry room was nicer than the one in her building. This one didn't have mould in it. "What have you worn?"

Octavia shrugged, dropping her dirty laundry down on top of a machine and pulling the top half of her hair off of her face. "If it looks good and smells fine, I have a right to wear it."

"You're disgusting." Raven decided, hefting her bag onto the side. The room was deserted. Apparantly Monday night wasn't a popular laundry slot.

"I'm practical," Octavia was insisting, yanking open a machine and stuffing wads of crumpled colours in.

"Yeah, I'm practical too, but I'm also hygenic." Clarke grinned, as Raven slid a bottle of detergent across the surface of the counter.

"Do you know what this is, Octavia?"

"It's called soap." Clarke explained, picking through her more meagre pile of clothes (she was sure it wasn't just her who had a wardrobe full of clothes but always ended up wearing the same thing) for anything white.

"It's a magical thing."

"Shut up, I smell great," Octavia elbowed her in the ribs as she shut the washing machine door, hopping up on the counter top, in the fetching couture of all the clean I had left, otherwise known as Superdry pyjama shorts, Tom and Jerry socks and an Ark High Spacemen tank top.

"Wanna bet?" Clarke raised an eyebrow.

"I smell great," Octavia insisted, leaning over and shoving her arm in Clarke's grimacing face. "I actually _smell great_,"

It was at that point, Raven laughing and Octavia practically violating Clarke, who had taken to fending her off with a sports sock, in order to prove that she smelled great, that the laundry room door clicked open and Lincoln shouldered his way in, manouvering a green laundry basket around the entryway. Clarke caught Raven's eye and nearly laughed at how quickly Octavia jumped up, interest flaring into her face. Should she do something? _Why not_. Helpful friend and all, Clarke decided. "Hi, Lincoln,"

"Hi," He nodded a polite smile her way, making use of one of the washing machines lining the back wall of the room behind them. "You heard the rumours about the washers here being the best?"

"Oh, they're the best," Raven put in, sauntering foreward and offering a handshake. "I'm Raven, by the way. And this -" Lincoln shook courteously and Clarke had to restrain a smile. Raven was having far too much fun with this. "_This is Octavia_. We live in the building."

"Octavia," Lincoln considered as he dug out a very manly bottle of Persil. "That's a nice name."

Octavia, still holding her laundry basket in front of her interesting attire, drifted over to him. "Thanks. My brother came up with it, actually. I think he'd been studying the Greeks in class when I was born, it's kind of cheesy,"

"I like it,"

"Well, you're Lincoln. That's pretty cool. Like the president?"

"Like the president."

Clarke exchanged a look with Raven. She could practically see the sparks shooting off of them, undoubtedly invisible to the pair themselves. She actually kind of felt like she should give them some space (it wasn't like she was the one who'd brought this man into their lives or anything), and she wondered if it was going to get awkward again, as she and Raven gravitated away, to lean against the dryers along the other side of the room. Raven was smirking. "Ten bucks says they're at it by Christmas."

"You're on, grease monkey." Clarke replied. "I say by Halloween." She slapped Raven's waiting hand in agreement, like everyone in their little group did to seal a bet. It was only ten bucks; but maybe she could talk Octavia up anytime she saw Lincoln in the hallway, and tip the odds further in her favour. Somehow she had a feeling she wouldn't be hearing much from Octavia for the rest of the day.

Clarke was in a good mood. She'd finally got her still life for Wallace finished - somehow sketching a pre-autumn tree, when done right, she was sure, counted as such and not a landscape. (Or at least comfortably straddled the line.) She had lunch at the Subway across the street with Bellamy, which was nice. (She was bizzarely proud that she could reel off her go-to sandwich order without pausing once.) They hadn't really properly caught up in a while. She and Anya completely blanked each other in Astronomy. (The advanced group wasn't actually bad; not that she'd ever admit that to Anya, ever.) She signed up for a boxercise class at the gym. The guy had said it was good stress relief. And now she was way on top of laundry, and she got to look (proudly, somewhat childishly) foreward to clean sheets night later on.

"Look at them. So obvious." Raven was saying, and Clarke was suddenly very aware of the fact that she'd seen those sparks with Raven and Finn, and Raven had probably seen them with her and Finn, and maybe that's what Raven was thinking about now. Oh well. It wouldn't help to worry about that now.

"So shameless," Clarke added. It was sweet, really. Lincoln and Octavia were still talking when her washing machine whirred to a stop, and _still_ when her _dryer_ was done. From what Clarke could gather, they were flowing, liquid, from one obscure topic to the another. Right now it was something about childhood tree-climbing injuries. (She had no idea.) She'd decided to happily quit while she was ahead with the whole Raven thing, and as she gracelessly dumped her clothes into her hamper (she could fold later) she found herself wondering if she had become a 'proper girl' and just accidently set her friend up.

"I'm going go sort this out and then, I'm officially_ unwinding_ for the evening." Clarke announced, making her way toward the door. "Lincoln, I'll see you around, I guess?"

"See you," Lincoln had barely glanced away from Octavia, in all her laundry-day glory.

"Octavia, you coming?" Raven prompted.

"Oh, right," Octavia nodded, grinning, checking the dryer one last time for stray socks. "Anyway… It was really nice meeting you, Lincoln,"

"Yeah, it's been fun. Never thought I'd say that about laundry." The handshake that ensued was the locked-eyes, over-smiley, romantic-comedy sort of handshake Clarke had never expected to see in the wild.

"Well," Raven clarified, when they were safely out of earshot of and and all well-worked-out grounder boys. Clarke walked with them to their stairway. "He seemed to think you smelled great."

-0-

Clarke was folding her clean clothes on her fresh-sheeted bed to some obscure and awful radio station, whose debates she was actually rather enjoying, when one of the callers mentioned something about stars, and she remembered the Astronomy essay due tomorrow afternoon that she hadn't written.

Fuck. _Fuck_. God, would it be so hard for someone, anyone to have reminded her? Technically that was damn Anya's job. She knew it, she _knew_ there was something up with Anya ignoring her today! (Okay. So maybe it wasn't absolutely vital for Anya to remind her. And maybe Anya was just ignoring her because it took a lot of effort for the two of them to get along.) (But it _felt_ like it was her fault.)

She glanced at the clock by her bed. Half eight. She had heaps of time. But the clothes could wait - she managed to transfer everything she'd already sorted and folded into her drawers and left the rest in a lethargic pile on her pillow. Clarke really did want to do well in Astronomy. She wanted to do _really_ well. And everything had been running so smoothly. She scrabbled to dump her laptop and it's power cord into a bag, bounding over her bed for textbooks and notebooks. The library would still be there a few minutes later - but that was a few minutes she could be spending cramming everything she knew into that essay. Pen, she needed a pen - fuck, why were there never any pens? (She always started the year with so many, that dwindled so drastically, so quickly. Where did they_ go_?) As much as pained her to ransack her newly-tidied half of the dormitory, Clarke rifled through organized drawers and threw back handfuls of junk in her fruitless search. _Well, this was never going to get her anywhere._

She was just about to errupt into the incredible hulk when her gaze came to rest on Lexa's stark, beckoning side of the room. _Did she dare...?_

No, she - no. Why not? It was only a pen, after all, she'd put it back. "Fuck it," Clarke muttered to herself as she stalked over into the unfamiliar territory, glancing around. She felt like a seceret agent. She didn't know Lexa well, and she didn't really know what her deal was, but she did live with her, and she had seen her study. Clarke dropped to her knees. _Father forgive me, and all the rest of it._ Lexa always pulled stationary out of the second drawer down in the little stand by her bed. Feeling increasingly absurd, almost as if she was violating her roommate - over a _pen_ \- she pulled the drawer open, and _hallelujah._

She made sure to reach gingerly into the back of the drawer, to borrow an unassuming, possibly forgotten biro that nobody was going to miss for a couple of days. However silly it sounded, she didn't want to disrupt anything else. Clarke felt her features draw into a frown as her fingers encountered something that was neither biro nor pencil.

The poloroid was kind of faded. Clarke didn't realize anyone under the age of sixty who was not an insufferable hipster even used poloroids anymore, but she recognized the softened lines of a picture that would one day disappear from her childhood. But it wasn't the fact that it was a poloroid that shocked Clarke so much as that it was a poloroid depicting Lexa, and another human being, and she was_ laughing._

The other girl, who was almost as pretty as Lexa (and had really very unnecessarily good hair) was in the motion of tackling her, and she had her arms around her waist. Clarke hadn't realized just how void of humanity Lexa usually looked before seeing the happiness captured in poloroid form. She had a really nice smile. (This was _so_ an inappropriate invasion of personal space.) The faint handwriting along the bottom read, _Lexa + Costia._

_Costia?_ Who the hell was _Costia_? Some relation - or, God forbid, a _friend_? Clarke hadn't seen her before, and she was gaining the uncomfortable feeling that she was looking at something she wasn't supposed to be looking at. Most likely because the picture looked as if it had been crumpled up into a ball, uncrumpled, and then crumpled again several times over.

The sudden swell of footsteps in the hallway sent her heart jolting into her throat, and Clarke shoved the picture back where she found it, sliding the drawer shut and tossing her stolen pen into her bag. She hurried out of the door without a second glance. She had an essay to write.


	6. Chapter Six

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~ ***Octavia Blake voice* I'm back bitches! And I still can't get over your response. Everybody who has read this has made me extremely happy. I hope this chapter will repay the debt. (Well, I had a ball writing it.) #clarkehasissueswithwindows

**6.**

Someone had left the window open.

The window that was directly above her. The window against which rain had been smashing for the past hour. She could barely hear Professor Wallace, she could barely hear herself think, she couldn't just reach up and close it because it was one of those shitty, security-locked windows, she couldn't just move because everywhere else was full, the lecture hall was _fucking freezing,_ and Clarke somehow had the feeling Anya had something to do with it. (She knew that was nuts. How could she have any idea where Clarke wanted to sit?) (But still.) (It_ felt_ like she did.) At least she'd seen the back end of that thrice-damned still life. "Although I have already assessed and made notes regarding everyone's still life assignments, one of my aims for this course is to broaden and improve your sense of artistic critique -" _Speak of the devil_. At least she could hear Wallace over the rain. "So, partner up, and assess one anothers'. We'll move on at quarter past."

Clarke stilled where she had been picking at the underside of her chair with her new, more legal biro. She'd returned Lexa's last night, while her roommate was out doing god knows what with her grounder pals. The picture had gone. "Partners?"

She glanced up. Lincoln. _Why not?_ "Sure. I'll come over there. This is the death seat." She grabbed her sketchbook, and she'd never sidled through rows of chairs faster, pitying the fool who took her place. "So," Clarke sat beside him. "How's your still life skills?" _And my friend Octavia wants to know how a completely different set of skills is. _

Lincoln, who was wearing an _Abbey Road_ t-shirt and whose crumpled umbrella was sitting in a small pool of old rainwater, shrugged sheepishly. "Alright. I kept thinking it was a bit pretentious, doing an old paint set. All the implications or whatever."

"I'm sure you'll be fine. I practically did a landscape." Clarke muttered. _But what's life without a little rebellion?_ She wasn't sure what made her look up over at him, flipping through old drawings in the awkward pause that ensued, and she was not sure whether she was grateful that she did. But she saw it. A few pages away from the still life he was looking for. It took actual restraint to stop her faintly-disturbed, slightly-glad frown from coming to light. Just in that little glimpse, the extraordinary detail... It was a beautiful, accurate portrait, sure. But _what the hell_. "I'm just going to go use the bathroom," she announced (possibly a little too loud), and, wound her way between crammed chairs and students filling the room with a vibrant, quiet murmur. The minute she was out the door, she had fished her phone from her jeans pocket and was dialing Octavia's number.

"Sup." Her friend sounded as if she'd been running.

"Okay, Octavia," Clarke glanced back at the room door. "I'm not sure if this is breaking some kind of bro code but I felt obligated to tell you."

"Ooh," _Or maybe I don't have any right in hell to talk about the bro code._ "Out with it."

"Lincoln is drawing you," Maybe she didn't have a right to talk about the bro code; but she and Lincoln weren't really _bros_ yet, and this, she was sure, frankly, was weird.

"What?" She could envision Octavia's look with flawless mental clarity.

"Like, _drawing_ you. He has this insane portrait of you in his sketchbook." Her voice kept trying to rise.

"Holy balls." Clarke nodded flamboyantly, and then realized Octavia couldn't actually see her. Another annoying habit she'd picked up lately. University was doing things to her. "That's freaking _romantic_. Is he good?" Apparantly not as much as it was doing things to Octavia.

"What? No, this isn't good, none of this is good. You've met once, this is getting stalkery." Clarke insisted.

"With biceps like that he can stalk me all he likes." Octavia deadpanned, frighteningly serious. Clarke sighed into her phone. Sometimes she wondered if she should just sit around the Student Union until some poor undergraduates took pity and spared her the insanity of the old Ark crew.

"With an attitude like that you won't survive the month." Clarke muttered.

"Whatever. I'm late for class - and you are late for continuing your thoughtful and selfless investigation of the hot grounder artist with the badass pecs for your dear, dear friend. Please?"

"Goodbye, Octavia."

_What the fuck?_ Clarke brushed whatever that was off as she clicked the call away and stowed her phone back in her jeans as she returned to class.

-0-

Octavia Blake was a stubborn idiot with an iron will. That was, after all, the primary reason that Clarke had attatched onto her her respect and friendship at the influential age of eleven years old. (And why they'd clashed several times since.) They were the same that way - except Clarke liked to think nobody could call her an idiot. And Clarke appreciated that. Mostly. It was times like this she cursed it to the flaming depths of hell.

She hadn't stopped texting her since Astronomy began.

But was it in colour?

_No_, Clarke text back, mildly annoyed, making sure to keep her bag on her lap to tap away unbothered. _Why does that even matter?_ She glanced at the time in the top corner of the abused screen. Half an hour left of the lecture. She kept recalling the damn rushed essay (that ominously enough, hadn't been handed back to her yet.) Anya was sorting textbooks at the back of the lecture hall, from where she could easily sneak up and take her unawares, and that hardly set Clarke at ease. The professor had put on some video about nebulas.

_It matters, Griff, _was followed in quick sucession by _does he do any in colour?_ (Clarke was wondering what the deal was with the constant multiple question marks.) and_ I will kill you if these msgs see the light of day_. And this coming from the easygoing one. There was no hope for any of them.

_None that I saw, and tbh I don't plan on releasing them anytime soon._ Clarke tapped the send symbol and turned her phone screen down, trying to focus from her vantage point, slid down about two thirds in her chair. Somehow, the video had gone from nebulas to universal abnormalities and the dull narrators' voice was going on about a giant cloud made of strawberry flavoured alcohol or something useful like that.

_Tbh? Thought you disagreed with text abbreviations_

She locked her phone. This no longer could be classed as a conversation, and she wasn't going to entertain it as one. Clarke retrieved her pen and was about to start scrawling down notes from what was left of the documentary, when she was startled out of her skin. "Finally decided to join the rest of your class, then," Anya muttered as she walked by, carrying a stack of textbooks and sporting that annoying blank-but-somehow-angry look on her face. "Did you even understand any of this?"

Clarke turned her head, fifty thousand percent done. "Do you ever do an actual days' work instead of just trying to belittle me constantly?"

Anya studied her for a moment. "I help grade papers, you know. Do you think I can't tell when people hurry them the night before? If you want to stay on this course, how about trying harder?" Clarke's fingernails were digging into her palms, and she was about to spit out some barely controlled rebuke when Anya continued on to the front desk. She was still pissed off when the lecture let out.

-0-

By the time she'd made it to the top of the dorm stairs, Clarke was convincing herself she was fine, and was also weighed down by the bag full of cafeteria food she'd bought to binge on when she got in. (An enormous bag of Doritos, a box of fries with mayonnaise, two croissants, and one of those little pre-packaged angel cakes.) (Okay.) (Maybe she wasn't fine.)

She'd fallen through the door somewhat violently; dumped the bag of junk on her bed; plugged in her laptop and headphones to rewatch the Astronomy documentry, because however awful Anya was, she did have a point and had obliterated the fries when the first grumble of thunder resounded through the clouds, and apparantly caused some disturbance in Lexa's mental frequencies.

"You know that stuff's killing you, right?" Clarke, who had one earbud dangling out, was slightly shocked. Lexa had barely looked up from her own work as she'd struggled in and stuffed her face.

"Everyone's entitled to a day off." Clarke told her(self) firmly, scooping a blob of mayonnaise up on a french fry with stubborn satisfaction. She couldn't help shooting Lexa a kind of 'so there' eyebrow quirk. Her laptop was buffering with the crash of the rain outside.

"Much like your kidneys." Lexa murmured uninvolvedly, reaching into the drawer Clarke had trespassed in for a pencil. Whether it was because of that particular drawer, because of the infuriating disinterest in her voice, because she was done with all the grounders around this place and their fucking good makeup and cool hair, because the storm slowly flourishing outside the window was kind of spilling in and into her, Clarke didn't feel like just making an exasperated, weirded-out facial expression and ignoring her like she had taken to.

"Do you have to be so damn rude all the time?" Clarke snapped, tugging the other earbud out and pausing the video that was struggling to play so much she really had to take pity on it. She tried to gage any sort of reaction from her roommate and failed. "And while we're at it, you can tell your _bestie_ Anya to stop being such a bitch."

Somehow, despite the rain and the wind, she could hear the cover of Lexa's textbook slam shut, and her voice carry, perfectly harsh. "She's only being hard on you because she knows you can do better!"

Probably true. "Really? Because it seems like she thinks I can't do anything." Lexa's explaination actually made sense, although Clarke did find it hard to accept. And she always did work best when she was working against something. But that didn't change the fact Anya could have been nicer about it. She finished her fries and slammed the box closed.

"I know you think her methods are harsh, but they're how she teaches, and how she pushes her pupils to achieve." Lexa's voice dropped a little. "You could try being grateful."

Clarke had always tried to stay unbiased in the Great Awkward Silence of Clarke Griffin's Dorm Room; she didn't dislike Lexa at all, but she wasn't about to befriend her. And yet she couldn't help but feel annoyed that the one time she wanted a good argument Lexa had to go and make her feel bad about it. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she was just stewing in the disapitating tension with a frown firmly plastered on when the shower of hailstones pelting the window rattled onto the line of books shoved on the windowsill at the foot of Clarke's bed, and called to attention the fact that the winds had blown the window wide.

"Shit," Clarke jumped, darting up to shoulder the window shut - which proved a difficult feat. (And now she looked like a weakling in front of Lexa.) (How was she supposed to know the window had gotten stuck, as it was prone to when it was open so far?) The dreary sleet blurring all the world to grey outside was soaking into her hair as she struggled. She hadn't realized Lexa'd jumped up at the sound as well, and was just standing there awkwardly, unsure. "Give me some help?" Lexa nodded and it was probably the closest she'd ever been to her as her longer, tanner hands joined Clarke's on the freezing glass, thankfully warm in the vast cold of a damp autumn. It took Lexa's back and Clarke's shoulder to jam the damn thing closed. Some of the books had been sacrificed in the effort, but for some bizarre reason Clarke found herself on the verge of laughing. (And if she didn't know any better, she'd have thought Lexa was almost considering possibly not looking deadpan.)

"How are they?" Lexa asked quietly, wiping the rain from her fingers and going to sit back on the edge of her bed.

"Salvageable." Clarke observed hopefully, tossing the paperbacks with the soaked pages onto her bed and flopping down after them. "I can run a hairdryer over them or something," She probably wouldn't have to; if she left them open overnight they'd be wavy-paged and worse for wear, but readable and dry. Still, she couldn't help but sigh as she cleared the framed photos, clustered hairbands and stacked notebooks from all available surfaces to make space.

"Some can go here," Had Clarke not turned in shock to see her lips move, she wouldn't have believed the words she was hearing Lexa's voice offer. (Well, it made sense. Lexa had none of the sentimental objects that cluttered Clarke's sides.) (But _still_.) It was such an unLexalike act - or maybe it wasn't, and Clarke just wouldn't know, because she'd never bothered to ask.

So it was in the most genuine and literal sense of the phrase that she told her "Thank you." Lexa just nodded. She'd just settled back down, angel cake opened, with her books all around and the earthy crackle of thunder rolling up through the rain, when she realized she didn't want to keep on at the Astronomy. She could do that any time, and after all, her laptop was buffering so badly there wasn't really much point. She shut it gently, and tried not to analyze what made her withdraw the second little half of cake and hold it out to her roommate. Peace offerings with stripy icing. "Here." Lexa just looked at her. "If you're so worried about it killing me, might as well save me a little bit." Lexa looked slightly perplexed, but she took the cake gratefully after a slight hesitation. The sight of something so small and sweet and dainty in Lexa's hand made her smile a bit. Reaching to unplug her power cord and moving the laptop into it's assigned draw, Clarke sat cross-legged on her bed and threw caution to the wind as she turned to face Lexa's side of the room. "Do you get storms like this a lot round here?"

For one exasperating moment, Clarke was sure Lexa was going to revert back into the weird brooding version of herself. "Sometimes. It's always worse around October."

"We didn't get really bad storms in Ark. It was just grey." Clarke wished she could stop talking about the weather. Lexa probably thought she was incredibly dull. The angel cake was good, though, and the sound of the thunder and hail was somehow relaxing. Clarke hesitated. "I don't have anything against Anya." Which doesn't change the fact that she's a bitch.

"She doesn't have anything against you. If you look back to the start you'll be able to see that her pushing helps people." Lexa examined the cake half.

"Yeah," Clarke agreed begrudgingly. (She could accept that.) (_Didn't mean she had to like her_.) "My friend Octavia said the same about someone called Indra. Maybe you know her. All the grounders seem pretty friendly to me." It only occured to her as she was speaking that that had the potential to be really fucking offensive.

"Grounders?" Lexa gave her a look.

"It's what everyone -"

"I know, I just didn't think you were that involved in that aspect of things." Clarke's mind caught on that a bit; the implication that Lexa had thought about her at all - that she hadn't been entirely ignored.

"I'm not. Do you mind being called grounders?"

"We prefer trigedakru." Lexa said, and Clarke had the bizarre notion she was making fun of her. "It's just a nickname, Clarke." And that was the first time she heard her name in Lexa's voice.

"Trige-what?" Clarke pressed, grabbing a tissue to wipe the icing from her fingers. A gust of wind sent rain shattering against the window.

"Trigedakru. It's the traditional name for people from nearby, from the first settlement here hundreds of years ago. Someone brought it back when I was a kid." Lexa explained, like she was writing some documentary.

"You must really know your history." Clarke observed quite pointlessly.

"I know my heritage. I try not to focus on the past and loose sight of now." She said, as of that was a completely normal thing to come out of a college freshmen (who wasn't a philosophy major)'s mouth.

"I always took history with a pinch of salt," Clarke agreed. "It's all written by the victors."

"Exactly," Lexa agreed. _You may be cold, Lexa,_ Clarke thought - _but at least you're smart. _

That night, the rain sung her to sleep.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** I'm such a cruel tease, I know. But hey; at least I'm not as bad as the actual writers. On a suitably clexa-y note, has anyone heard Jamie Brown's song from angel Costia to Lexa regarding Clarke? (Like I Did, I believe) Don't listen to it in the public library like I did because people will give you weird looks as you try to stop crying.

**7.**

It took Clarke a few minutes to realize it was her phone, abandoned face-down on her bed beside her, that was emitting the vibratory buzz that had been bugging her. (She just assumed it was maybe a notification from some gadget Lexa had left on when she went out.) (It wasn't her fault she never had her phone on vibrate.) She put her pencil down in favour of the battered screen. "Clarke!"

"Octavia!" Clarke matched her friends' tone. The landscape she'd been sketching wasn't for any assignment, but she hadn't drawn just for the therapy of it for a while, and she wanted to try out the charcoal technique Wallace had been talking about the other day. It was also a good time-waster in her resiliant civil war, sometime known as Putting Off Studying.

"Seriously, you can't hear me? Open the door."

"What?" Clarke muttered, mostly to herself. It wasn't just her, Octavia was constantly at her door these days. _Get a hot artist neighbour - moths to a flame_. "Lincoln's not here." She told her, clicking off the call as she let her in. Octavia spilled in and bounced onto Clarke's bed. She was all but jumping up and down.

"Yeah, I know," Octavia said, hopping back up. "He's in the Student Union. Okay, so, I was going to go meet Jasper at Subway, but nobody told me it was fucking monsoon season. So I run into the SU till it got drier, and, there he was, in the corner, drawing something and I went and said hi and then, like, we started talking and then it was an hour later and I was getting his number and agreeing to continue over coffee sometime." Clarke couldn't say she was surprised. She resettled on her bed, grinning despite herself - if it carried on the way it was going, she'd have bragging rights over Raven by Halloween."Will Racoon Face Brooding Pants mind if I sit here?" She guestured to Lexa's bed.

"Probably," Clarke answered.

"So, yeah," Octavia concluded. "I don't know when we're going to go, he says he has to help out some professor today, but you work with him in one of your art classes, right? So whatever he says about it, tell me. Or at least tell me the gist. No - some of it. What's life without some mystery, eh?" She flopped onto Clarke's bed beside her.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so much like a real girl." Clarke realized that was in fact, true. She always hated the idiot girls, the ones constantly giggling at some poor unsuspecting male or another; that was why she mostly stuck with Wells, her kindergarten buddy, all through her childhood. And even after he moved away, she and Octavia and Raven didn't ever really do 'guy talk' unless it was 'take the piss out of guys talk'. And like hell anyone was going to get advice from Monty or Jasper Flight Goggles Jordan. It was all much simpler with them. (Before Clarke unintentionally did Raven's boyfriend.) Whoever Octavia's latest prey was would be strung along with them for a while, and the subject of various jokes (and awkward scrutiny if Bellamy was present). Finn was around for a bit (but Clarke hadn't really talked to him properly until she also started making out with him). But Clarke was starting to think all that was simply because there weren't all that many attractive guys in Ark.

University was a whole different ball game. (Literally.)

"Shut up, he's really cool," Octavia picked up a photo from Clarke's bedstand with mild interest. Not that there were all that many (tolerable) attractive guys here, according to Clarke. She didn't know what was wrong with her - college was meant to be a haze of parties and guys, wasn't it? She'd seen a few people she'd thought were hot. There was a boy in her Art History class who kept badgering her to call him. But she honestly had zero interest in any of them. Octavia turned the wooden-framed picture over in her hands and tossed it to her; only Clarke's natural reflexes saved it. "Oh, remember that? Monty threw up so hard after the Vampire coaster!"

The picture had been taken by a bemused tourist on their senior ditch day. They'd managed to get a ride out of town into the nearest theme park; They were in front of said rollercoaster and Octavia was jumping on Jasper's back, Raven was wearing his goggles and the necklace Finn had made her (this was during the pre-_Clarke-stole-Raven's-boyfriend-and-obliterated-his-heart_ days), Monty still looked slightly green, and Clarke was miming stealing his Cornetto. In the moment, she'd just been trying not to look at the little metal raven hanging around its' namesake's neck. It'd been one of the last days before she found out, actually. Clarke put the photo down. "Yeah, it was disgusting." Clarke frowned. "Didn't you get lost in the butterfly garden thing?"

"I prefer the term 'went on an adventure'." Octavia corrected. "Makes me sound less of a dork."

"You got lost in a butterfly farm, you're a dork." Clarke grinned and then jumped at the jolt of a key in the lock and the groan of the dumbass old door swinging open. She didn't spare much more than a glance at Raccoon Eyes Brooding Pants - sorry, Lexa. Since the night of the angel cake hurricane, they'd reverted back to normal. (Albeit with a few more tolerated comments about whatever they were respectively getting on with at the time.)

"Well," Octavia heaved herself up. "I'd better go. I told Jasper we'd postponed Subway by half an hour and it's been more than that. Are you going to game night at Bells' on Tuesday?"

"Yeah," Clarke shrugged and smiled. "I don't have anything better to do. And I've still got to beat his ass at Red Dead."

"Cool. Well. See ya," Octavia swung out the door, mouthing _REBP_ as she went, and she was gone before Clarke could even reply. She shut the photograph in one of her drawers; now she'd associated it with Finn, she didn't want to look at it so much. Then she realized and inwardly withdrew any mental comment she'd made about Lexa and the picture in her drawer. She glanced back at the charcoal pencils spilled across her bed. Her flow was gone now, and she really had to study.

"She didn't have to leave just because I'm here," Lexa muttered flatly, unloading books and various stationary from her bag. Clarke glanced up. She was more used to the whole (weird) roommate deal now, but somehow after having had an actual conversation that was actually nice, all this awkward stuff was worse and amplified. "You can have your friends here."

"You never have yours." Clarke countered, packing her art stuff away. Which was true; she'd seen Anya and various other grounders at the door before, but it was always restrained, in a way, and they never crossed the doorway.

"I don't have any friends," Lexa told her, and Clarke couldn't help the look on her face, not because of the blatant, brutal statement but because of the almost proud way she said it. Superiority by isolation. Like she was bragging, subtly.

"What about all the people you're always with in the hall, and around?" Clarke couldn't stop herself. Anya, and Gustus, and Quint, and all the rest whose names Clarke had bever heard through the door. (She hadn't realized, frankly, how much attention she'd been paying.) (She knew their names.) (Christ.) (She really needed to get out more.)

"They're accquaintances, classmates. People I know, or that I have known. They're not friends." Her tone was suggesting explainations of something simple to a young child, insinuating Clarke didn't get the point.

"You say that like it's a good thing," Maybe she didn't. Clarke stuffed her textbooks and highlighters into her computer bag.

Lexa looked at her for once in her life. "You say that like it's not."

_Whatever_. She had to go study.

-0-

The library was vast, well stocked and comforting. Of course, it wasn't the vast, well-stockedness that was the comforting part; in fact, the sheer scale of the place was bizarre. (And Monty said he'd gotten lost in it. They all laughed, but who where they to judge? _At least it wasn't a butterfly farm_.) It was the extreme wealth of knowledge just waiting on the shelves that made the muscles in Clarke's shoulders relax. Endless possibilty. Somewhere in the pages of those books, the genius to outwit and prove wrong fucking Anya was there.

But as much as Clarke was a literature hipster, the internet was faster.

She cleared a space at one of the partitioned tables lined with year-old Apple Macs and keyed in the code from her card. According to Clarke, the book was superior to the Kindle (although she appreciated its' merits) - but if you wanted something done quick, you found a mouse and keyboard. She was just deciding to get the bus into town later and purchase some heathier snacks, (Lexa's words from the other night had wormed right in.) (They'd all heard the freshman fifteen horror stories.) setting out her notebook and typing deconstruction of nebula patterns into Google when she heard a familiar voice battling with an infamous one, and she had to look up.

John Murphy, fellow Arker reknowned for fistfights and four-week suspentions, was whining as he trudged along behind the man behind the (legendary) madness, Professor Thelonius Jaha. Rumour had it he was a smart, serious and decent guy, who, somewhere along the line, accquired the idea that he had been given a message by the 'light' and gave up on running for congress because of his destiny. He was teaching Religious Theory, which was taken by anybody looking for a two-year laugh. (And, apparantly, irritable delinquents looking to effortlessly up their GPA.)

"I just didn't get the sense you believed in what you wrote," Jaha was saying. Clarke hadn't ever seen him in the wild before. He didn't seem as nuts as people said.

"_Oh my god_," Murphy groaned. Clarke couldn't help smirking to herself - he was a douchebag (and since Octavia pointed it out, she couldn't unsee the fact that he looked like a hardass version of Millhouse from The Simpsons.) and as much as all the Ark crew had to stick together, she felt like he had this coming. He looked five thousand percent done and it was hilarious. "I'm not asking for much here, crackjob," (The last bit was less audible.)

"I'm not changing your grade until you put the effort in." Jaha insisted. "You need to start taking responsibility for the choices you make -"

"What the hell are you even talking about?" Murphy shouted exasperatedly, to the evil stare of one of the librarians. Clarke snorted as she scrolled through astronomy papers. They were right by her desk.

"_The city of light_!" Jaha told him, much to Clarke's amusement. She didn't think he'd noticied until she caught the rancid glare he threw at her over his shoulder as he passed, and the subdued flip of the bird.

-0-

She was just coming out of the shop, weighted down by carrier bags of excessive foodstuffs (Clarke always told herself she was too strong to be tempted by the sneakily-places surplus of snacks that lined the way of the queue and yet she always seemed to relent to it.) when she came to the sudden jolting realization that the spur-of-the-moment umbrella was a very good decision.

The rain had blossomed in the - what? Ten minutes? - she'd spent on her health foods. (Clarke was no vegan-diet-fad-fasting bitch - she was first in line to _fucking slap those idiots around the face_. But it always seemed simple to her that what you put in your body affected it, either positively or negatively. Constantly eating shit was almost a form of self-destruction, and stupid, she thought. Everything in moderation.) into a resiliant armada of freezing water assaulting the streets without mean or mercy. The pavement was glowing with a diminutive display of ever-changing explosions of water against concrete. Tumultous puddles gathered at the sides of the road like discarded coins in the mud, and running in rivers into overworked drains. _It's never like this in Ark_, Clarke thought bitterly, lingering in the flourescent storefront as she opened her new umbrella. But what could she do - the sky was black as a bad bruise, and waiting here was only going to make it worse. She threw up the hood of the sweater she had on under her jacket, tucking her hair into it, and ducked out into the storm. Like the wave of heat greeting you as you stepped off a holiday airplane, the cold was a force of its' own, and the rain was tearing the world up - most of the town's inhabitants had surrendered. She ran to the bus stop, cursing under her breath.

The curses didn't stop under the fake-glass bus stop - her first glance from under dripping eyelashes and misty breath at the board of arrival times betrayed her. Delayed. No time - just delayed. Fucking buses. Shaking out her umbrella and sitting down, she pulled out her phone - _17:12_. It only looked later because of the brooding of the clouds. But her hands were freezing and jittery and she was holding two fragile, weighty shopping bags and she had no idea when the bus was turning up. Clarke considered her options. It wasn't like it was far back to campus. If it was summer, she'd have walked there and back without question.

Well. Clarke Griffin, one, weather, zero.

The umbrella popped back up, and she was just wincing against the weather as the wind tossed handfuls of water all around, stalking across the rain-distorted road and back in the direction of the college when her done gaze snagged on the figure in the crazy coat a few feet ahead, the coarse fabric rippling around long legs and boots that were awesome in the literal sense. She knew that coat. "Hey!" Clarke shouted, voice raising in late battle with the steady rush of rain. Head down against the elements, she ran foreward, jacket pulled tight. "Hey, Lexa!" Clarke panted as she caught up. She held out the umbrella.

Lexa stared. The rain had run rivulets down her face; the usually-insane makeup was starting to drip toward her cheeks, and yet she still managed to look fierce as ever. Clarke had the feeling she didn't have to strain to be louder than the rain. "What are you doing?"

Clarke, squinting at her through the rain, held the umbrella a little higher to accomodate her and answered honestly. "Cohabitating**."**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** This one's a little bit of a filler chapter, and I apologize for that, but fear not; I greatly enjoy next couple of chapters, I if do say so myself. As always, if you read, follow or review, I love you. (Throwing in a bit of poetry over here.) I actually do. You all rock so much. Also, if I was to write a cheesy one-shot about future canonverse clexa about to get married and having the most awkward pre-wedding dinner with Abby, would anyone think that was funny?

**8.**

"No! Shoot! Shoot! Go - shoot - no!" Octavia howled. She was beating Jasper with the Xbox remote. Clarke smiled slightly from her position on one of the large (saggy and aging) sofas crammed into the living room in a manner you would literally only find in the shared house of five male college students. And she was actually surprised at how hygenic Bellamy's place was. She had expected wherever he managed to be nice, but, come on - four other college guys. Bellamy had his own friends - his own roommates and circles - but he meant well for his sister. So well, in fact, that Octavia had learnt exactly how to exploit that (and his Xbox).

At least Clarke considered Bellamy a friend. What Lincoln was doing there she had no idea.

"What say we make game night a regular thing?" Octavia wondered, handing her controller to Monty.

"And have to consider you dorks real competitors?" Raven muttered. She was clearly adressing Kyle Wick, one of Bellamy's roommates who Clarke assumed she knew from Mechanics and Engineering, and who Clarke assumed did not know about the actual and literal sexual tension that sprung up in the space in between them with every snippy comment. It was cute.

"You wanna go? I can go right now," Wick challenged, grabbing the Xbox controller from Jasper and taking the hallowed place on the floor in front of the TV. Everyone was trying to beat this insane part of some new alien game Bellamy had bought.

Raven snatched Monty's. "Bring it,"

Clarke was watching intently and inwardly cheering for Raven a whole lot more than she would have done a few months ago, and feeling quite proud of how mature the two of them were now, when she felt the cushions sag further under the weight of Bellamy as he sat beside her with a can of something and offered her one. Clarke frowned at it, but she accepted none the less. "The hell is this?"

"It's sparkling mango." Bellamy explained, _as if that wasn't obvious_. Clarke stared until he relented. "Only six-pack under a buck at the store. We're in college, we're poor. It tastes fine."

"Yeah, I'll be the judge of that," Clarke popped the tab with a hiss - if it had been given to her by anyone else under the roof she'd have waited five minutes to make sure it hadn't been shaken up to hell and back. It did actually taste fine, shockingly enough. "So," She nodded toward Raven and Wick from where they were playing (noisily). "Think they realize they're two snippy comments away from ripping each others' clothes off?"

"Probably not," Bellamy considered. "They had to work together for a project, he's always complaining about her. I kind of want to hit him over the head to make him realize."

"I know. It's when Raven does that half smirk thing we know we're in trouble." Clarke added.

"I think we already are," Bellamy gestured toward the two with his can of sparkling mango. "Look."

"Ah, yes," Clarke observed. "The classic _you're an idiot_ head-tilt."

"Pretty soon it'll be the_ you're my idiot_ head-tilt."

"By Halloween?" Clarke offered. She already had it down for Octavia and Lincoln to be official by then - and she'd dragged him along here tonight; after meeting the brother it was pretty much official anyway - why not try to up the stakes and double her money? "Ten bucks."

Bellamy nodded, slapping her hand to seal the deal. "You're on."

"_You're_ on, Bell-_àmie_," Jasper called from the delegated 'play space' on the floor before the TV, waving his newly-retrived game controller at him. "One last try before Octavia makes us put on MarioKart."

"You love MarioKart and you know it," Octavia shot. She was sitting cross legged on one of the mismatched sofas, talking with Lincoln, who Clarke was feeling increasingly sorry for. As a group they were not the easiest to be suddenly thrust into; and game night at Bellamy's was not the easiest night to start on. If he survived this, he'd have proved himself worthy and hopefully they'd admit to the sparks and Clarke would have one-upped Raven (by ten bucks) by Halloween - which was fast swinging around.

"Trying to will those two together?" Speak of the devil. Raven dropped down next to her in Bellamy's just-vacated seat. "You're drinking that stuff?"

"It's good." Clarke punctuated that statement by swigging the strange artificial mango stuff with relish. "And by the look of things, I don't have to will anything. She's got that look in her eye."

"Ah, she may have, but it won't come to fruition before Halloween, it's like, a week away." Raven guessed, grimacing away from the mango drink. "And speaking of, the_ doofus_ and I have been told to bring as many people as possible to this costume party."

"Who's throwing it?" Clarke was more than smart enough to be wary. (She was also smart enough to hold back the smirk at her reference to Wick as 'the doofus'.) The first flecks of rain were beginning to slam into the windows. _Suprise, surprise._

"Some engineering frat," Raven shrugged.

"So, they get drunk and wire engines? Is that a thing?" Clarke sipped the so-called mango apprehensively. Any time she encountered frat guys around campus it took all her willpower not to punch them in the face. Drunk frat boys in Halloween costumes in a frat house wasn't her idea of fun. Not unless she wanted to be known as She-Hulk for the rest of the semester.

"Yeah, but if you want an engine done right you come to me." Raven clarified. "So are you in? Hey, everyone, you wanna come to a Halloween costume party?"

"Yes." Octavia seemed to think she was answering for everybody in the room, sorting through the various editions of MarioKart that Bellamy and the other inhabitants of the house had accumulated. "Are we talking _costume_ costumes or animal ears and-or superhero capes over normal clothes?"

"I don't know, _Wick_?" Raven grabbed one of the mango cans. "Fuck it, I should try before I judge."

"I think a bit of both." Wick answered.

"There's no point in me asking to do a group costume, is there?" Octavia sighed. Lincoln laughed, as he looked at her with that look in his eyes and Clarke wondered why she'd ever questioned the reality of movie-love.

"We don't have the right number for the Avengers," Monty pointed out, as if that was obvious and also relevant. He was promptly hit in the face with Octavia's balled-up socks.

"_Not_ what I had in mind, nerd. But I'll go," Octavia shot an affable grin and puppy dog eyes toward Lincoln. "Lincoln?"

"I don't know, Octavia," Lincoln started, startled. "It doesn't really sound like my thing,"

"Thank you!" Clarke muttered. She liked Halloween well enough when she was a kid; and she wasn't the jack-o-lantern Grinch or anything; it was a fun idea. She just never really had the need to whack on a witch's hat and get drunk. Particularly not with anyone even the least bit fratty.

"I'll talk you round." Octavia decided. For one terrifying moment, Clarke thought she meant _her_.

"I'm in." Jasper agreed.

In fact, everyone agreed; so that by the time they'd reached Clarke she had almost resigned herself to it. Everyone was staring expectantly. She sighed. "_Fine_." Celebratory cheering. "But I am not dressing up." She was suddenly quite terrified of her friends; if they could get her to go to a frat party with such minimal effort, they could do anything. (Except get her to go to a frat party in costume)._ Oh well._ She wasn't going to drink at all, and if she did, it'd only be one beer; and she didn't have to stay for more than an hour or so.

Raven whooped. "Cool. Bring as many people as you can." Clarke gave a cursory eye roll. It was almost ordinary, with Raven now, as long as she didn't overthink anything. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed their friendship until it was (shakily) back in place. However hard she tried to block her out, Lexa kept storming into her mind. No matter what their weird-ass beliefs were, it had to be lonely; the chosen isolation.

She shook the thought off as Octavia tossed her a controller, chanting _MarioKart_ with triumph.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Since I might not be able to update for a few days and I wasn't entirely happy with the last chapter, I'm going to give you this one today. As an addional thank you for all your kind words and follows; please, for the sake of your health, imagine Clarke and Lexa having a kid and loosing said kid in a ball pit.

**9.**

Clarke groaned and rolled over to violently assault the snooze on her alarm clock the morning of Halloween. _Fucking Halloween and fucking frat boys._ It took a great deal of effort to kick off her tangled covers and not faceplant the pillow. What made it worse was how awake she actually felt; it was more the prospect of her promise looming. She wiped the last traces of the nights' sleep from her face, sat up, and almost had a damn heart attack. "Morning," Clarke muttered, fazed, frowning (and endlessly thankful she hadn't slept in a ratty t-shirt and old underwear for once). Lexa was _never_ in when she woke up.

That was one of the few things Clarke enjoyed about the whole having-a-roommate ordeal. Their schedules were so different during the week that they didn't ever see each other in the morning; and on the weekend, well - Clarke just assumed Lexa got up even earlier than she did, because the very soonest she'd ever seen her she was showered, dressed (impeccably eyeliner-ed) and was coming in from grabbed the blanket again out of instinct, too many trails of sleep still clinging to her for her to be as freaked and annoyed as she usually would have been.

"Morning," Lexa replied, without much involvement. She was still showered, dressed and impeccably eyeliner-ed, going through a textbook. It was infuriating. She was all... Uncrackably Lexa, and there Clarke was, all bedheaded and sleepy in mismatched pyjamas, ensnared in blankets.

Clarke replied with an unintelligble grumble, reaching over to swipe her phone unlocked. It was coming up to twelve o'clock - not even considered a lie-in by most of her slob friends but a veritable coma by her standards. She had five new text messages. She thumbed with distate and disinterest through Raven's reminders about bringing some contribution to the party tonight, Octavia's group alert to meet her outside and go in together and Jasper's pointless _happy Halloween_. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Clarke hastened to throw her shower stuff and some clothes into a bag. _So, what? She was just getting on with her day with me sleeping a foot away from her?_ Clarke wasn't sure she'd have been quite comfortable enough with her yet to do that. She shook it off, and she'd never been out the door quicker.

While students roaming around in pyjamas were a common sight pretty much everywhere in the college-dominated town, Clarke Griffin had never been one of them before. She didn't know why; pyjamas were comfortable and it was hard to say goodbye to them some days. But perhaps she had a little too much dignity to present herself in her Starry Night print t-shirt and stripy cotton trousers. Until now, apparantly. _Fucking Lexa_. The girls' showers in the dormitory block were crowded; Clarke stood around sorting out the bed-hair sitaution until the perpetually freezing (_invigorating_, an optimist would have said) shower at the end became unoccupied.

For some bizarre reason, the proudly un-materialistic Clarke had accquired the urge to look really, _really_ good when she got back to the dorm, to spite her roommate. She ran into Lincoln on the way back, just coming out of his room. "Still going to the party tonight?" He wondered cordially. "I'm not going to have any alcohol, but I've kind of come around to the rest of it." Some people had hung fake cobwebs and paper skeletons on their doors.

"Unfortunately. Not managed to slip that noose yet," Clarke muttered. However horrifying that shower had been whilst under the icy downpour, she was determined to face it down like a worthy adversary, and she was actually grateful; it had woken her right up.

Lincoln grinned as he went off down the hall. "Don't be so grim - it could be fun!"

"Yeah," Clarke muttered to herself as she barged back into the dorm. "And hell could freeze over." She dumped the shower bag unceremoniously onto her bed and rescanned her phone's inbox with more refreshed eyes. _Bring a contribution?_ What the_ hell_ was that supposed to mean? _Alcohol, probably_. Clarke still didn't have a fake ID. (Although by this point she'd made peace with the fact that it was only practical to accquire one in the near future.) Maybe she could just bring some dip or something and they'd all be too busy getting hazed to notice. "Hey," Clarke broke the silence. Lexa was sitting on the edge of her bed, lacing her boots up. "You know anywhere close I can get... party supplies?"

Lexa finished lacing. For a moment Clarke thought she was going to be left deviod of an answer; that was before literally the _only_ turn of events Clarke would never have imagined unfolded.

"I was just going out anyway." She stood up, taking her coat from it's hook on the back of the door.

Absurdly perplexed and somewhat intruiged, Clarke shoved her phone and wallet in her pocket and shrugged on her leather jacket. "Okay." _Wow_. Lexa nodded, and with Clarke still entirely fazed, and surprisingly, not in a bad way, the two of them went out their shared door, together for the first time. "So," Clarke started, when they were halfway down the hall. "Where are we going?"

"I'm going to get lunch from Ton DC." Lexa replied, and Clarke felt the_ I'm_ too forecefully. "There's an Iceland nearby. It's not more than five minutes from here."

Clarke nodded. Lexa had a certain way of walking. She hadn't noticed before; somehow, crowded under a flimsy Wal-Mart umbrella in a furious rainstorm in the headlights of the oncoming darkness kind of commanded its' own attention. Although Lexa did too - and that carried over into the way she moved. Commanding and purposeful and somehow kind of regal. No - that wasn't the right word. Clarke was beginning to doubt there was any right word for Lexa. "What's Ton DC?"

"It's a resturant about a minute off campus. I'd have thought you'd have heard of it." Clarke wasn't sure if she should be offended (or maybe just try and get out more). Although maybe it was some kind of grounder hangout.

"Nope. Are they any good?"

"Yes. Lots of variety, lot of it's not overprocessed." Lexa still managed to sound as if she was explaining something Clarke ought to know already; like she was some salesman hating and humouring his job. And that was infuriating - there was more to her, and Clarke _knew _it. She'd become sure of that the night that the window failed at being a window. After all, cold exteriors were only that: exteriors. (And even if they did run deeper, people who were composed entirely of unexplainable ice didn't tend to keep crumpled old poloroids in the darkness of their stationary drawers.)

"Oh, cool," Grounder or no, Clarke was beginning to like the sound of the place. "I'm kind of a health freak." _Apart from the occaisional whole pizza thrust on me by my friends and the disgusting mountains of comfort food you've watched me devour. _

"It's not being a health freak, it's having common sense." Lexa nodded at a passing grounder sporting a hipsterish beard that, through the magic of the grounders, didn't look hipsterish on him at all. "Whatever you eat affects you either way."

"That's what I always say," Clarke realized, keeping pace with Lexa as she rounded a corner, the little square opening up to her dominated by a large wooden building whose sign was a broken 'Washington DC' one. She smiled at that._ Political_. She shouldn't have expected any less. "Obesity's bullshit if you have any self-respect or brain cells."

Lexa nodded. The Iceland was squashed inbetween a post office and an old-fashioned carpenters'. She was in the doors and scanning the aisles for something to _contribute to the party_ (she still didn't understand what that meant) when she realized Lexa was still beside her. She didn't object - she was just thinking it was nice (and entirely unnecessary) of her to come in with her when Lexa leaned past her and started picking various items of her own off the shelves.

_Fine._ Clarke grabbed a few cans of Pringles off the shelf and the two of them moved toward the queue. "So what party's this?"

"Oh, it's just something stupid," Most of the time Lexa seemed like she couldn't care less about Clarke, or anything the slightest bit trivial. (God forbid anything the slightest bit trivial about Clarke.) And then she went and actually asked questions, unprompted. Clarke thought she was growing used to the unpredictability of her roommate. "It's this this costume party at this frat; my friends are making me go."

Lexa looked her right in the eyes. (Okay. Maybe she wasn't.) Under the drama of the makeup, her eyes were as intense as she was as a person. It was entirely unnerving, and it was so something illogically difficult to look away from, like an eclipse or a train crash. "I hadn't thought of you as someone who did things they didn't want to do."

_I hadn't thought you thought of me._

Stupidly uncertain of how to reply (an entirely new and unhinging sensation) Clarke's eyes caught on the alcohol shelf and latched onto it as a new topic of conversation. "I think I need alcohol."

"What did I do?" Lexa murmured with a wry eyebrow quirk. She still wasn't smiling._ But,_ Clarke thought - _baby steps in the right direction_.

"Do they ID in here?" Clarke, worming past Lexa and going over to retrieve two bottles on two-for-one offer (_classy_), thought the situation hopeful; the surly teenage cashier looked half asleep. Despite Lexa's delayed answer, she hurried back over to the queue, where her roommate promptly took the bottles from her.

"Here," Lexa put them on the counter with the rest of her stuff, and Clarke was still standing, perplexed until she dug into her wallet and came up with a fake ID of her own. _What the...?_ Clarke supposed everyone had them; she just never thought of Lexa as _everyone._ The health talk - _whatever_. She really needed to stop subconsciously assuming things about people. Lexa handed over the cash without any hesitation; and the cashier handed over the items without any hesitation. After she'd paid for her deject little tubes of Pringles, Clarke hurried after Lexa out the door, handing over the money.

"Why'd you do that?"

Just the look on Lexa's face as she tucked the money into her wallet made her feel like her question was obsolete. "Why wouldn't I do that?"

"Because," Clarke said, taking back her drinks back and transferring them into the bag with her Pringles. "It's not like we're friends, or anything," _We all know how you feel about those. _

"No," Lexa agreed. Above, the clouds were, inevitably greying. "But I don't dislike you." The wind was stirring the ends of her hair; she looked like someone in a painting - someone just a little bit unreal. Clarke wondered just how strange things had to be for that statement to feel like a compliment. "I can respect you." Well. From Lexa, that was practically a marriage proposal, so she guessed she had to take what she was given.

"Thanks." Clarke sounded far more sarcastic than she meant to. Awkward silence.

"I'm going to get lunch." Lexa turned toward the resturant - Ton DC - without any more preamble. Clarke was about to head back to campus, and find some of the Ark crew to laze around with until tonight, but she decided last minute that last minute decisions were usually the best ones to look back on.

"Wait," She caught up to her, as she had that night in the rain. Lexa turned with an expectant look. "Room for a second?"

-0-

"I'm not saying we should storm the white house or whatever -"

"We won't need to. The wage gap'll close itself in a few years." Lexa was saying, her voice somehow carrying over the hum of clinking cuttlery and chatter.

Ton DC was actually really nice. The bar was clean, the tables and interior actual wood rather than cheap, fooling-absolutely-nobody plastic. The food was insanely good. And she was pretty sure she was the only non-grounder in the place. She also liked the fact that there wasn't a plastic pumpkin anywhere in sight. The little table in the corner, tucked away from the bar and the stairs, where she sat opposite Lexa, was exactly the table she'd have chosen had Lexa not automatically went and sat down there. Lexa was talking. Involvedly, actually talking with her. It was more of a lets-put-the-world-to-rights debate. But still. Hopefully, unlike the Night of the Retarded Window, after this they wouldn't be so awkward.

(Because Clarke felt as though they'd broken through that barrier now.)

"If not, I'll bring the flaming torches." (At least Clarke hoped.)

Lexa made that facial expression that was kind of pre-smile if Clarke was being generous. "I'll bring the angry villagers."

"It's a deal." She agreed. The whole - however long they'd been in there - Clarke had been perfecting the art of deflecting silence. She had no idea why; she just couldn't shake the feeling there was more going on with Lexa, and it wasn't like she had anything better to do. (And Lexa's hair was seriously awesome enough to wholly distract her from the words _costume_, _halloween_, and _frat_.) "Are you going to eat that?"

"Be my guest." Lexa pushed her demolished plate across the table at her. Clarke wasn't sure if that was crossing some weird social boundary; but she had dressing left on her plate, and if Lexa didn't want the remainder of the bread, she wasn't going to see it go to waste.

The shadow of the party situation had lifted, a little.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Can I just say, since I first plotted this thing out, I have been looking foreward to writing this chapter. And no, it's not what you're probably thinking. But seriously, guys. Seriously. (I did think I might have gone a bit too far with it. But after this, everything's normal again, promise. And if it made you laugh even a little bit, I have no regrets.)

**10.**

_Your blocks on the way there, will knock, walk together?_

Raven. Clarke sighed, resigning herself to the sudden reality of it. Well. She was not going to be beaten. In addition to refusing to wear a costume, she also refused to do anything special involving makeup, hair, or any kind of dressier outfit. She'd resolved to stay for an hour or so while everyone was still tipsy and amusing; she'd be well out of there by the time the keg stands, semi-public sex and off-key kareoke started.

The space between getting in from _Clarke and Lexa's Day Of Fun_ and waiting for the Halloween party seemed infinite and unbridgeable.

After they'd finished up at Ton DC, Lexa had gone on to do whatever else she had to do (they'd really made progress on the sharing front) and Clarke had managed to find her way home by herself. Studied a little. Texted Octavia back and forth until she got that there was no way in hell Clarke was wearing a Halloween costume to a frat party. Talked to her mom for a while (the phone had laid on her duvet on speakerphone; Clarke laid beside it on the bed, thinking about the morning and holding a weight in the air to make her feel more productive). Lexa had returned about an hour ago while Clarke was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling; she was doing something on her laptop. They'd exchanged vaguely friendly greetings, but that was it. _Probably used up her daily quota of human interaction or something._

Outside, the sky had darkened considerably, although Clarke wasn't sure if that meant autumn was descending or whether it was just about to rain again. She sincerely hoped that such a remarkably horrendous fall basically gauranteed a spectacular summer, and tried to ignore the fact that that was not how weather worked. Raven buzzed back through her phone again. _See you in a sec._

Clarke sighed, replied, and then turned it off, tossing it onto her pillow. She wasn't expecting any calls and she did _not_ trust frat parties. "Well," she muttered. "I'm off to paint the town jack-o-lantern orange."

"Have fun," The sound of Lexa's fingers clicking away on the keys of her laptop was relaxing, now she'd grown used to it; almost instrumental. She reached for her jacket, although the dormitory heating was blissful if not a little overwarm; she'd surely need it when she got outside.

"I'll do my best," Clarke resolved grimly, grabbing a pair of boots from under her bed just as a rhythmic triple-rap on the door heralded Raven's arrival. "It's open!" She called, bracing herself and pulling on one shoe. Raven opened the door about halfway. "Hi,"

"Hey, Griff -" She cut off and gave Lexa an awkward nod. Lexa either didn't notice or didn't think it necessary to return the favour. "I'm gonna get Lincoln,"

"I'll be right out," Clarke hurried the laces of her second shoe and crossed through the Lexa-territory of the room. Beyond the ajar door, Raven and Lincoln were making small talk at his door. He was wearing a coat, so she couldn't tell if he was in costume - she admired him if he wasn't; Octavia had clearly been pestering him all week, and it took a lot of willpower not to relent to Octavia.

"You'll probably still be awake when I get in," Clarke told Lexa optimisically as she stood up to get a power cord from the storage thing hanging from the back of the door. "I don't want to stay out long." Lexa had to lean around Clarke to get it, and unnervingly, all Clarke could think was that the soap or purfume or whatever it was she used smelled really nice. The motion had left them closer (physically, at least) than they had been in the almost two months that they'd been living together. (That didn't explain why her mouth was suddenly as dry as her head was of things to say.)

Lexa nodded. "Well... You look nice, anyway,"

Clarke blinked, looking at her, the flourescent yellow light of the hallway flooding in through the crack of the door, inches away. She hadn't done anything fancy with her hair, or makeup and she was dressed like she always dressed. Was Lexa saying she thought she always looked nice? Or that she somehow looked different now? She didn't think she did. It didn't seem like Lexa would compliment her just to be polite. Suddenly, bizzarely, she was back to the moment she first saw her, not the moment that reeked of gym-sweat that Clarke always thought of their first meeting, but outside the gym. She'd thought -

"Clarke, we're leaving, with or without you," Raven informed her loudly, and Clarke mentally slapped herself until her mind jolted back into motion. _What the hell was that?_

"Um, well - I'm gonna go." Before Lexa could say anything else, Clarke slipped out the door to join Lincoln and follow Raven to this hallowed frat house, avoiding eye contact.

-0-

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" The grinning guy at the door, who was sporting a backwards snapback that Clarke was itching to punch off of his head and holding a red plastic cup of something that stank retorted. She didn't know which one of them he was referring to. She didn't care much, either.

"Pocahontas!" Octavia snapped, as if that ought to have been obvious, at the same time Lincoln said, with a dialled-down version of the same tone, 'black Mozart' and Monty mumbled something about Clark Kent.

"I'm a serial killer," Raven informed him very seriously, already having to shout over the incredibly loud Macklemore song that was playing. "They look the same as everyone else." Clarke rolled her eyes. _She_ was dressed as a college freshman who cared fuck all about frats and costumes and just wanted to try and have a good time with her friends before leaving when they all got drunk and embarassed themselves. And who was increasingly freaked out regarding a weird - what even was that? A _moment_? - with her grounder roommate.

(It was possibly because of that moment, or possibly because the bowl had a sticker on it that said 'non alcoholic' and the guy standing there assured her that it was, and the punch inside tasted insanely good, that Clarke would end up getting very very drunk.)

Just as the party was flourishing into full swing, and Clarke's head was beginning to swing as well, Bellamy found her, standing beside one of the crammed buffet tables, swigging that not-alcohol that tasted _fucking divine_, and pressed a two fives into her hand. She didn't quite realize why, but he nodded toward a sofa in the corner; she assumed that that was Wick on top of Raven, the two of them furiously making out. _What alcohol does to people,_ Clarke thought scathingly, burying the ten bucks in her back pocket triumphantly, although she was glad that the palpable sexual tension was finally getting some resolution. (That was one of the last coherant thoughts; slowly, they slipped half-formed into some gaping mental abyss, the majority never to be seen again). Now she just needed Pocahontas and black Mozart to take one too many shots and that'd be both bets in her pocket. She didn't even understand why it was so necessary for all the tequila and beer and everything else; the non-alcoholic punch tasted amazing. She downed the rest of her cup and turned around for a refill. She'd have to ask one of the hosts for a recipe when everyone was more sober.

"Steady on," Bellamy looked concerned. "Don't you want to slow down a little?"

"It's non-alcohol!" Clarke shouted, over the blaring dance number the DJ had switched too. She'd already lost track of how many times she'd refilled her cup; she waved it explanatorily, except she accidently waved to vigorously and sloshed some over the side of the cup and over her hand; Bellamy looked reassured not at all. "Not alcohol!"

He snatched her cup. _How fucking rude. Rude_. That was a funny word. _Rude._ He sniffed uncertainly and took a tentative sip. "No, _this is alcohol_," Bellamy confirmed.

Clarke shook her head violently. Her hair hit her in the face, which felt weird, so she laughed. "Can't be, says so on the bowl," She reached for her cup back.

"I think you've had enough," Bellamy told her, anxiously putting the cup up on top of a cupboard, well out of her reach. Why did he have to be so tall? It wasn't fair, Clarke thought at all, wasn't… What had they been talking about? The lights everywhere were swirling around like a big lighty vortex, like rainbows in motion.

"Lights are so pretty, aren't they?" She only just heard herself over the music; or maybe she hadn't spoken at all. The music was so loud. Her ears were ringing. She hadn't danced in so long - she'd never danced, really, she never saw the point, but her body was moving in a pleasant, dreamlike state of its' own, and it was fun - why didn't people dance more? They should all just dance instead of walking. "Your hair's so curly," she realized. "Like a spring. Hey, Octavia!" She hurried after her friend, ignoring Bellamy, who was being all shouty and worryish.

"Clarke!" Octavia shouted, over the music. "I thought you'd be gone by now!"

"Octavia!" Clarke shouted back. Why would she be gone? Where would she be gone? "_Octaaaavia_. You're dressed like Pocahontas. That's so cool! Why didn't I dress up? _Octaaavia_. Ha." Clarke hiccuped as she laughed, snatching a drink from the snapback guy, who was passing. It was okay, she knew; it was non-alcoholic. "Octavia. Such a long name. _Octaaaaavia_."

Octavia stared at her. "Are you high?"

"The sun's high!" Clarke contributed. The sun was so high. And she hadn't seen it in so long. It was always raining lately here. "I like rain. It's all rainy." But not all the time. All the time rain was so dull. She talked to Lexa when it was raining. Why wasn't Lexa here? Lexa was interesting. Clarke noticed Monty squirming uncomfortably through the mass of people crammed in front of the DJ. "Hey!"

"Um, hi, Clarke," He looked incredibly out of his element. "I think I'm going to go in a minute. Are you still leaving?"

"Leaving? Why the hell would I do that?" Clarke took his Clark Kent glasses and put them on. They were hers rightfully; she was called Clarke, not him. She automatically felt more intelligent with glasses on; not that she needed to. She was very intelligent. _Everyone_ knew that.

"What's going on?" Jasper asked, suddenly appeared beside her, looking confused.

"I'm smart. Smarty smart smart." Clarke told him. She wondered if they had any smarties anywhere. The glasses distorted the lights; blurred the colours. They looked funny, and the sound of her feet on the floor was funny as well.

"Our brave and fearless leader is pissed off her head," Monty was saying, distantly, somewhere far away. "I hope."

She could hear Jasper laughing so she joined in. Her feet _did_ make funny noises, other people thought so too. "Clarke, Clarke -" Jasper said, the flash on his phone camera winking at her. She winked back. "What's three times nine?" _Who cares?_

"I can't see in a straight line." Clarke told them.

"Great, really great." Monty grinned. "What day is it?"

"We ate at Washington," She remembered. That was today, but it seemed like years ago. Everything felt like an expired memory, even the moment she was in; distant, dusty, and somehow far away. She frowned. Lexa was a nice name, nice like the food at Ton DC. Lexa's name was as good as that food, she was sure. "It's party day. Pocahontas should just kiss Lincoln!"

"Why's that?" Jasper looked intruiged, but also like he was about to start laughing. He should just laugh if he wanted to laugh. Laughing was fun.

"So I can get the money from the Raven," Clarke told them, distractedly. That table looked comfortable.

Some immeasurable amount of time later, she was on a different table, with the glasses on, and somebody else's cat ears, and she was... Clarke wasn't sure what she was doing. She was having fun. She was doing a concert, and everyone was chanting along with her. "It's getting hot in here," Clarke sung, as loud as she could, "So take off all your clothes - I am getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off," It was hot in there, so hot. Maybe the song was right and it was sending her a message from the light like Professor Jaha. She went to take off her jacket, but it was already gone - when did she take off her jacket?

"No you don't," Bellamy told her, grabbing her arm and yanking her so she had to climb off the table. People were cheering - that was so nice of them. Vaguely, she was aware of Lincoln turning up, and talking to Bellamy.

"Did you kiss the Octavahontasavia?" Clarke wondered.

"Yeah, that's fine, I'm going now anyway," Lincoln was saying.

"Come on, Clarke," Bellamy removed the Pringles can that was her microphone, manouvering her toward the door. "Home time."

"But I don't want to..." Lexa said she shouldn't do anything she didn't want to do. But then there was the prospect of bed. Beds were so soft and warm. Worth traipsing through the outside for. And bouncy when you wanted to bounce. You could do lots of things in beds. _But she was having such a good time._

"We're going somewhere fun, okay, Clarke?" Lincoln told her. She nodded happily. Fun was _great._

"Okay, yeah, good..." It was freezing outside, she could tell, but she couldn't feel the sting. She was burning, burning hot. Everywhere hot. Like her face was made of flames. "I was fire." Clarke didn't remember getting into her dormitory block, and she didn't remember going up the stairs, which she should have done, because stairs were hard, but she remembered the yellow hall light on Bellamy's springy spring hair as he asked her if she had her key. "My key's in the... In the jacket." She frowned. Her jacket was somewhere at the party house. She hoped it wasn't lonely.

"Fine," Lincoln sighed. He was knocking on her door; that was weird. She didn't usually hear people knocking on her door unless she was on the other side of her door. But she didn't usually need Bellamy to help her stand up either. She didn't know why she did now either - she was fine, free. The door opened almost immediately, softer lamplight from inside her dormitory flooding out as Lexa stood there, wearing raging concern on her face instead of eyeliner and trying not to show it. Clarke knew she was trying not to because that was how she looked when she was trying not to; the same, but her eyes were always different. It was one of the myriad trivial things Clarke had picked up on, from weeks of living within arm's distance of her. At least, that was what she assumed; they were the things nobody else seemed to notice.

"She thought it was non-alcoholic, she's really drunk," Bellamy explained. But Bellamy was explaining boring things, so she didn't bother to pay much attention.

"She's also forgotten how to stand up. I'm right across the hall," Lincoln added. "Are you gonna be alright -"

"I'm letting go of you now, Clarke," Bellamy told her, and then looked back at Lexa. "I'm really sorry, just get her into bed and -"

"I can handle her," Lexa snapped, and her arm was suddenly around Clarke's shoulders, and it was so warm, and it made her shoulders all tingly and her stomach all knotty. Clarke stared at her. She was so pretty, like a pretty unicorn pretending to be a dragon.

"You're so hot," Clarke told her, throwing her arms around Lexa's neck, because she felt like it. Lexa's hair was so long and tickly, and she looked increasingly alarmed (but still hot). "You're so hot," Clarke repeated, because she wasn't sure if she'd said it already and it needed to be said more anyway. Why hadn't she ever said that before? Why hadn't she realized that? Maybe she had and she just didn't know it. But it felt like dropping a weight, releasing the words; she really _should_ say that more.

"I'm gonna go," Bellamy said, retreating. But Clarke had forgotten he was there, anyway.

"Okay," Lexa muttered, cheeks pink, slamming the door forcefully shut and attempting to disentangle herself from her. "You need to get into bed."

"No I don't," Clarke shook her head to punctuate her point. "You're really hot,"

"Clarke, get off me -"

"Don't tell me what to do," Clarke whined, and then she thought of something and giggled through her next fit of hiccuping. "It rhymes, see, sexy and -" She frowned. It didn't rhyme, actually, she'd have to change it. "Sexy, Lexy, it rhymes, hah,"

"Clarke, shut up," Lexa told her. "You're going to wake the whole building up."

"_You_ shut up," Clarke thought that through and regretted it. She tried to sound serious, but it was just so _hard_ when she felt so light. "Don't though. You shut up too much. You need to smile, smile like a smiley face like you did in the picture I found -"

"What?" Lexa, who was trying to hold her at arms' length, was wearing a strange expression on her face. Clarke didn't know why - she'd just told her to smile.

"Yeah, the picture with the pencils when pretty you and the pretty girl were smiling, you should smile like that. You never smile. Is that because she's not here? Don't let that get in the way... You should... Smile..." Clarke yawned.

For half a moment she looked stricken as if Clarke had slapped her across the face; but then Lexa's expression had chilled again, and her voice was stonily distant. "You need to go to sleep." Clarke felt herself being shoved gently toward her bed. She collapsed onto it, the softness of it, and burrowed deep into the quick comfort of the dark.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~ **So that happened. From now on, everything's stone-cold sober (or not).Thank you to everyone taking the time to read this; everyone who's clicked follow has put a silly smile on my face and also has made this my most followed fic - I love you all! The clexa army is forever.

**11**.

Bombs.

Earth-shattering, life-ending atomic blasts of destruction rhythmically igniting in her brain, leaving a large portion of her thoughts as decaying rubble. Or maybe she'd just been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Clarke groaned. Her ears were ringing, her throat was sandpaper, her face felt weird and the creases in the baby-soft fabric of her pillowcase were cutting into her cheeks.

She was never drinking another drop of anything alcoholic ever again.

She'd have rolled over to see what the time was, but she had a bad feeling about explosives and detonation. Thankfully, there was a cool dimness shading the room or the world; Lexa had opened the curtains, and cracked a window open, but the sky beyond was murky and colourless. She groaned again, mostly because it was about the only thing she felt capable of doing. The pounding in her head was trying to overtake her thoughts; she wasn't about to go down without a fight. But _holy shit_, she felt _dead._

A fresh explosion screamed somewhere to her left. Christ, that hurt her head. She meant to say something else, but she just groaned. It was infuriating. Face frozen in a wince that kind of detracted from the nuclear war raging behind her temples, she forced her leaden limbs to support her as she craned her neck to investigate, although they were only willing to do a little more than cooked spaghetti. It must have been earlier than she thought; Lexa, although dressed and eyeliner-ed, was taking a damp grey towel from the bag she'd thrown on her bed, hanging it over the radiator. Even in her hungover haze, Clarke could sense the double-edged shield. Once again, Clarke was sleepy and stupid, and she was all inpenetrably Lexa.

Clarke wanted to speak, to let her know she was alive (barely) but her mind was throbbing and she couldn't quite piece the right letters together in her head, so she just groaned instead. Lexa didn't dignify that with a response. She groaned louder. (It hurt.) Somewhere, in the fragmented pain of her hangover, she realized she was supposed to be at an art lecture with Wallace today. _Motherfuck_._ No harm in trying, I guess_. She struggled to a sitting position. Her blankets were clinging to her, dragging her down.

"Lie down, Clarke," Lexa told her, unpacking the rest of her shower bag and kicking it under her bed.

"I have to," Every word seemed to send another blow of the hammer to her head. "To class..."

"No." Lexa was gathering her own notebooks and stuffing her regular bag. Clarke winced again. She remembered Lexa, last night - something about Lexa helping her walk? And unicorns? What actually _happened_ last night? She painfully recalled something about singing on a table. _Fucking frat boys._ The next time she had life in her body, Clarke Griffin was going to bring the_ fucking rain_ down on those douchebags. "You have to lie down. Sleep it off."

Clarke would have protested, but it just seemed like the nicer option. Maybe it was just her still-a-little-bit-drunk imagination, but she was sure Lexa seemed a bit off. Brisk and outwardly empty as the day they met. And they'd had such a nice time yesterday; yesterday morning, at least. Clarke's memory fractured around the door to the frat house. A steaming styrofoam cup of something that smelled like hope appeared beside her face, as Lexa leant irritably across to place the coffee on Clarke's bedside table. "This is for you." She told her briskly. Then she was gone.

Although the door clicked shut gently, it triggered the mines all the same. Clarke drank her coffee and went to sleep.

-0-

When her eyelids flickered open the next morning, almost twenty-four hours later, it took her while to realize what was different; her headache had dulled to just that. A low, insidious and ultimately ineffectual beat that she could work around. Thank the heavens. She kicked the bedcovers off eagerly. She hated feeling sick, she always had done; hated feeling so weak and vulnerable_. But be honest with yourself_, Clarke forced the thought: _you're to blame this time._

She found herself some painkillers that her mother made her buy weeks ago and downed one, stuffing the rest into her jeans pocket as she got dressed. Lexa would have been in class already; Clarke's didn't start for half an hour. She'd had a very odd dream, about Lexa, last night. Just now, really; the rude awakening of her mind and body had cut off midstream. She was trying to remember it, clinging the the faint, slippery details that she knew she remembered a few minutes ago, as she slung her bag over her shoulder, and donned an agonizingly conspicious pair of sunglasses, despite the infinte grey outside. There'd been a lot of trees in that dream, and, she thought, a spaceship. She passed Lexa as she was crossing the quad; she blanked her. (Or maybe she just didn't see her.) (Clarke clung to that theory; she didn't like to think they were moving backwards.)

She was beginning to regret her descision to leave her bed at all when she joined the rest of the Art History class in the lecture hall, and was entirely enveloped in the raucous din of maybe four subdued, whispered conversations.

"Hey," Lincoln had materialized in the seat beside her. Somehow, after having seen a guy in an eighteenth-centuary poet shirt, ratty vintage t-shirts just didn't seem right anymore. Clarke murmured the best reply she could give, sorting out her notebook. "And I've got them here, just a second,"

"Got what?" Clarke frowned, rolling the end of her pencil absently between her fingers and wondering when the pill would kick in.

"The art notes." He seemed confused at the evident blankness beneath her sunglasses. She was endlessly grateful that he was too polite to even mention whatever the hell she'd done on Halloween. In the past half hour alone, she'd learned to tell whether or not a person had been at the party; it was the ones who did that were supressing smiles whenever they saw her. It all just added to her scowl. She barely remembered any of it. "From yesterday with Wallace?"

"Thanks," Clarke felt a sweep of relief. Every session with Wallace was wealth of gifts she couldn't afford to miss out on. "But I never asked you to -"

"Lexa did." Lincoln told her. Clarke blinked. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. "I just assumed you told her to."

"No," Clarke said, mostly to herself, "I never did." The fresh air spilling in to infuse her hangover from the open window, the coffee, the notes. She'd never seen Lexa care for anyone in such a literal way before; or in any way, really. But that didn't make sense - she was being so weird, with the ignoring her and the unprecedented reversal back to her icy attitude. But that itself didn't make any sense, after their genuine - whatever it was - on Halloween morning. The woman defied logic every time. Clarke took the notes and wondered when Lexa had set up permenant camp in the back of her mind.

Lincoln may have had enough tact to steer clear of the dark topic that was Halloween, but her friends, apparantly, did not. At lunch, while Clarke sipped at her coffee and dragged pieces of baguette through her copious organic salad dressing, the drugs finally fading her headache mostly away, Octavia was taking great joy in reminding Raven of her public, saliva-coated exploits with Kyle Wick.

"No, but that was _hot_. Are you sure all those sass battles weren't just foreplay?"

"Fuck off, Octavia," Raven muttered, sullenly stirring her tea. Apparantly she'd also gotten pissed. But not as badly as Clarke; she'd only needed half a day to get over her hangover. According to legend (and Clarke's past experience) Raven Reyes was _the angry, bitter drunk._ She'd never really been _the horny, stripper drunk_ before. Clarke wasn't entirely sure what brand of drunk person she was. _The most embarassing one, probably_. (The way some idiots were looking at her, she wouldn't be surprised.) She'd only ever been mildly drunk before, and the only effects it had had were amplified honesty and pissy-ness. Before yesterday, her worst hangover had lasted an hour and had been cured by half a coffee.

"Thanks, Octavia. Now I'm going to feel violated every time they talk to each other," Jasper winced.

Partly to spare him whatever remark Octavia was about to make regarding talking to Maya, but mostly because she was genuinely confused, and she was sick of the weird looks and the faint mental gaps, Clarke braced herself and asked. "What actually _happened_ that night?" Octavia sputtered with badly contained glee. Clarke shot her a look.

"You got drunk and tried to sexually assault your roommate." Bellamy contributed unhelpfully as he drew up a chair and untangled the cellophane from his wrap. _What the fuck?_ She was sinking deeper into the pit of senseless shame. Although she'd simply made a mistake, like any good human. The shame.

Octavia snorted. "What's this now?"

"When did you get here?" Clarke muttered sullenly. "And what the hell's that even supposed to mean?"

"Calm down," Bellamy was trying to supress a smile, she could tell; it was infuriating. He was supposed to be on her side. "You just... Told her she was hot and climbed all over her." Octavia emitted a loud, hysterical kind of noise that attracted several strange looks from passing students.

"I didn't." Clarke insisted.

"Just give in." Raven suggested, like a tired old war veteran. "They're never going to let it go."

"You really don't remember anything," Monty muttered, incredulous. "Jasper, show her the video."

"The video!" Jasper grinned, fumbling in his bag. Clarke's mind was still snagged on what Bellamy had said. _What the hell was he even talking about?_ He was messing with her._ I mean, he's messing with me, right?_ Even drunk, that wasn't her. (Lexa _was_ hot, but that wasn't the point.) (Or relevant.) "The video! Hey, Clarke, watch this,"

He held his phone out across the table to her. The raucous chatter of the party, made tinny through the phone speakers, and the psychedelic lights swirling sickeningly above the shadowy mass of drunk dancing morons. She faintly recalled that - what she didn't quite have back yet was the focus of the shaky footage. It was disturbing. And she had Monty's Clark Kent glasses on, tangled in her hair. "Clarke, Clarke - what's three times nine?" Jasper's voice was shouting, unseen, over the din. Memories that had been inching back to focus since the morning after Halloween were swimming into clarity and burning her face.

Clarke was seriously freaked out, as she watched herself, dancing, proudly declaring that she couldn't see in a straight line. Which wasn't even grammatically correct. "Put that away." Jasper managed to control himself long enough to obey. _Traitor_.

"That's what she said," Raven ducked out the way of Clarke's balled-up tissue.

"Wick or Lexa?" Octavia wondered, and must have immediately regretted after the force of combined death-stares from Clarke and Raven. Between them, they could probably muster an evil enough glare to stop Batman. (If Clarke did think so herself.)

"No, but seriously, Clarke, if you ever want to feel _free_, just get pissed." Monty told her. "It really seems to dissolve your mind-to-mouth filter."

"Wow, I have to go to class," Octavia realized. "Later, suckers,"

But Clarke didn't really notice that. Rusty gears were beginning to click into place. _What the hell had she said?_

-0-

"Lexa!" Clarke caught her breath and wondered why she always seemed to end up chasing after her. Fucking grounder. And Clarke had poured a lot of effort into this apology. Well; the pre-apology admin job. (Otherwise known as running all over the damn place trying to find her.) (And all for something she barely recalled.) (Really, fuck alcohol.) She'd checked their room first, but who was she kidding - Lexa was never in before four. She'd then rushed around to all the classes she knew Lexa was taking, despite some questionable direction-giving skills (and one awkward encounter with the grounder she thought was called Indra) from the students milling around, to no avail. It was only when she was exhausted, irritable and about to call it a day when she remembered the first time she'd seen her.

Lexa either didn't hear or deem Clarke's shout worth replying to. _Jesus Christ, this isn't September anymore._ The flourescent lights of gym corridor emmited a low buzz. "Lexa!" She caught up to her in the doorway leading onto the reception. "Hey,"

"What do you want?" Somehow Lexa's old airs were a thousand times more infuriating now Clarke had seen her be (almost) an actual human being. (It would have been tempting to punch her in the face if her face wasn't so _nice_.)

"I want you to listen to me," Clarke told her, moving out the way of perplexed passing gym-goers. "Look," She forced the eye-contact. "I don't know what I did, or said, but I'm sorry, okay?" Lexa tried to look bored; Clarke tried to see through that. "I'm sorry."

"We're not friends, Clarke," Lexa told her levelly. "There's nothing to say."

She turned to go, pushing through the door, and Clarke could feel herself flaring up. There was no point even bothering trying to stop herself by now. She shoved through the door after her, grabbing her arm. Lexa stared for a moment at Clarke's hand on her sleeve. For a moment she wondered what the fuck she was doing. _Well, no going back now._ "Hey! You can't just brush me off like that." She removed her hand. She probably should have done that earlier. "I was drunk, Lexa, and I don't know what I did, but I'm sober now and I'm apologizing for it."

For one moment of short-lived glory, Clarke was nearly sure she was going to accept that and invite her to work out and they'd never say another word about it. Clarke was wrong. "I have to go."

Clarke was staring after the sway of her hair and the back of her coat and cursing everything to the ground when an irritatingly familiar voice, tone dripping with a smirk she didn't even need to turn around to see adressed her. "Lovers' spat?"

She shoved past him on her way out. "Fuck off, Murphy."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** I've decided that for this ship Lexa wears the 'if found return to Clarke Griffin' shirt and Clarke wears the 'Clarke Griffin' shirt. I apologize for the length of this chapter, but it's hot, I was sick, fillers gotta fill and y'all are patient and awesome and seriously (figuratively) rock. I think the next couple should be more fulfilling...

**12.**

Anya was annoyed at her.

She could tell. Not the comfort-destroying way she was usually annoyed at everyone, the way Clarke had learned to tell meant 'that paper wasn't your usual standard' or 'seriously, try harder' but genuinely, no-hidden-meaning upset with her. _And_, Clarke thought, _if I had to guess, I know why_. Except she _didn't _know why. That was the problem.

Over the past few days, she had accquired a collection of hazy, vague memories from Halloween, but apparantly not the exact word or act that had shoved Lexa back into her little shell of isolation. (The past week had been a lot like her first week.). And now Anya hopped on board the Hate-On-Clarke-Even-Though-She's-Apologized-Like-A-Thousand-Times-For-Something-She-Doesn't-Even-Remember bandwagon. She hadn't said a word to her for the duration of the class, which was somehow worse, but Clarke could feel the tension. So Lexa had told _her._

_And just when I thought we were making progress._

Clarke shoved her notebooks into her bag as the rest of the class filtered out of the hall. Her whole Tuesday schedule had been pushed back an hour, which sucked. She should've been home forty five minutes ago; she wondered if she'd have time to study and go shopping before the sky inevitably darkened to rain. _Probably not._ She slung her bag over her shoulder and looked up at precisely the wrong time. The look Anya gave her was hurried out the door trying to keep a handle on herself. Octavia had sent out a group text earlier about meeting for dinner after class, and if it was with anyone other than her so called friends, they'd probably have eaten and left by the time her amended timetable released her. She could hear Octavia from down the canteen hall. Apparantly her black mood had bled through by the time she'd drawn up a seat beside Jasper and started picking at the contents of her tray.

"Raccoon face still won't talk to you, huh?" Or maybe Octavia just had a sixth sense.

"Nope," Clarke focused all her energy on cutting her food. "Not that that's anything new,"

"Don't be bitter," Raven snapped. "At least you don't have to work with the dickwad you almost screwed thanks to beer." (Raven seemed cheerier today, though: possibly due to Clarke's reluctant payment. Halloween had come and gone, and, shockingly, Octavia hadn't got Lincoln's pants off yet.)

"Enough with the doom and gloom!" Jasper's voice was light, soaring. He was eating with a goofy grin; Clarke had no idea how that was even possible.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Clarke raised an eyebrow.

"Let the man be," Monty, obliterating a pudding cup, commaded. "Homeboy's got a date."

Clarke's head jerked up sharply as Octavia spluttered, evidently having choked on her Evian. It took a few seconds and as many tissues for her to gather back her dignity. Clarke almost smiled. "What, what, what? Spill all, now."

"I think you just did," Raven muttered, amused, stabbing out her agression on her pasta. Octavia gave her a look and turned back to Jasper. _Smug bastard._

"It's not - a date, persay... So we went to the art thing, as friends, and Maya said she had a really nice time, and I didn't know what to say to that but I got the courage and I asked her if she wanted to see a movie sometime and we're going into town later on," He was practicaly bursting with glee. _Fucking happy couples everywhere._ Clarke had no idea why they were pissing her off so much today. She glared at the entwined fingers of the tattooed couple sharing their salad at the table next to them. "_Okay_, it's a date!"

"You are such a fucking girl," Raven marvelled. But Clarke could tell she was happy for him - and Clarke was too, but _still_. Maybe it was just the tone of the day she was having.

"Laugh all you want, my friends, but I don't see any of you -"

"Yeah, yeah, don't push it." Raven warned.

"Well, don't they say the first three months of college is the most play you get in your life?" Octavia wondered absently. _Then point me to the fucking convent,_ Clarke thought, indulging in pointless self pity.

"Stop bragging," Raven was grinning.

"Maybe I should bring Maya to game night sometime." Jasper considered aloud, cartoonishly dreamlike in his manner. "Introduce her to the group."

"There's a good way to never see her again." Clarke tried to joke; it just came out sullen and mopey.

"Hey!" Octavia protested. "Lincoln said he had fun."

"_Lincoln_," Monty did that eyebrow-wiggle thing Clarke couldn't do.

"I am not afraid to throw this carrot at you." Octavia threatened.

"If you're going to do that," Clarke stood on impulse, dropping her crumpled napkin on her tray; the couple at the next table were doing that annoying forehead-touch-kissy thing. "Then I'm going to do this." She motioned her head toward the door.

"Spoilsport!" Jasper called, over the others' cries of see ya.

She hadn't expected Lexa to be in when she slammed through the dormitory door - messed up schedule taking its toll, she supposed. Lexa didn't look up from whatever she was writing at Clarke's entrance - but by the time Clarke had kicked her boots off, plugged in her phone and tossed her notebooks onto her pillow, Lexa had stuffed her laptop into a bag and was lacing up _her_ boots. _For fucks' sake._

Clarke could feel the unsettled annoyance unfurling in her stomach, where it had been simmering all day. She didn't even know what she was supposed to be apologizing for! _You know what? I haven't done anything wrong. I wasn't even coherant. She should be the one apologizing._ That pissed off unrest had reached boiling point. "_Lexa!_" It was flushing into her cheeks. That caught Lexa's attention; she turned around with a bemused and expectant expression on her face. Okay - now what did she say? Clarke really should have thought this through. "What do you - what do you want from me? I've said I'm sorry like, a hundred times."

"Clarke -"

"No!" Clarke steeled herself; forced her gaze not to waver. "Whatever I did - that wasn't me. That was cheap booze that I didn't even know I was drinking. You should know that much." _You should know that much about me._

Perhaps the core of all their difficulties was that there was nowhere to run to; they could go to class, to the Student Union, to a friends' - but eventually, they'd both wind up back here, three feet away from each other. Lexa could leave; ignore her and carry on out the door like she'd been doing all week, but at some point, she'd have to come home. If Clarke didn't know her better, she'd have thought that was something akin to fear in Lexa's eyes. She could physically see the hesitation on her, and when she spoke her voice was odd and cracked. "You knew about Costia,"

Clarke blinked. The onset of her mind was dizzying. Fuck. _Fuck_. The picture - she was suddenly back on her bed, holding the framed ditch day snapshot Octavia had tossed her, and burying it in her drawer after the grainy photo-Raven's necklace had called Finn to mind. And she was realizing her last waking moments of incoherancy. And just like that, she knew who Costia must have been. "Lexa - I am so sorry,"

"You said," Lexa muttered.

She remembered the first few nights after Finn; one dumb, cross-eyed, tongue-out, selfie he'd taken when the two of them were messing around at work, that had once lived on a crammed corkboard over her bed at home, had ended up in a ball in her fist, and then the back of her wardrobe. She didn't know what happened with Lexa and Costia. But she knew what was going on with Lexa now, a little bit. Lexa looked so human, for once; so real. Clarke wanted so badly to be understanding. But she had too much anger from the last two months built up and bubbling over, and she couldn't even try to stop herself now. "So that's the reason, then? Costia? She's why you're so afraid of getting close to people, why you're so cut off from -"

"Yes!" The sudden rise of Lexa's wounded voice shocked her. Lexa was intimidating, in her way, and strange and intriuging and Clarke had somehow never heard her shout before. Sound genuinely not okay. Clarke didn't like it. If she was anyone else, if Lexa was anyone else, they might have ended up hugging. "Because I can't let myself be so weak."

They didn't. "Lexa -" Clarke didn't understand. _Weak_, what was she talking about, _weak_? "Love isn't weakness." She was remembering the aftermath of Finn Collins with a dazzlingly sharp clarity - she had felt blasted apart, paper-thin; but that wasn't weakness, even then. How could it be? Giving someone the opportunity to hurt you or to be hurt by you - that was the highest sign of strength, surely. But... Things were making sense now. Disjointed facts falling into place. She was so stupid. Of course things made sense. They always did, in the end.

Lexa stared at her and Clarke felt like she should have understood the message in her eyes, but she had no idea what she was trying to say; the Lexa effect, she supposed. However little closure that had provided, Clarke knew there wouldn't be anything more to say tonight. There was a strange feeling laying heavily in her gut. She wanted to be the first to leave, for once; let Lexa deal with that. She kept her eyes fixed on hers until she picked her bag back up, turned away, back straight. She could trust Lexa knew she wasn't running.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** And we've hit three hundred follows! You're all invited to my imaginary Gay Dystopian Commanders tea party. Dress code is grounder war paint. Music provided by Jamie Brown. Hallucenogenic nuts for all. (Remember those?) Also I know this chapter is super long - I genuinely didn't plan that, it kind of got out of hand as I was writing.

**13.**

"Are you sure you don't want to crash here?" Octavia pressed.

After she'd left the dormitory, Clarke became aware that she hadn't thought her dramatic exit out all too well; her friends' room seemed the only acceptable place for her to seek refuge for the evening on absolutely zero notice. They'd asked what happened; she told them that she and Lexa had had a disagreement. Which wasn't, strictly speaking, a lie. But she'd never even think of filling in the blanks for these people who were barely involved, who had no business in the matter; she could never betray Lexa like that. "I don't run away." Clarke stated. _Particularly not when there's nothing to run from._

"I have a sleeping bag," Raven informed her, for the millionth time. "For you." She added hastily. "I sleep in beds."

"Wick's bed." Octavia coughed. Raven smacked her with a pillow, and Clarke smiled gratefully, relieved of the change of topic, latching onto it. She just wanted to forget about this afternoon; about the whole rest of the day, really. But she couldn't stop thinking about Lexa, and her words, and the look in her eyes; like the consistancy of the rolling ocean in the distance, no matter what's going on at the beach. Those thoughts were always there, always running, in the background. Like white noise.

"Stop that," Clarke told them. "You really want to turn into a twelve year old boys' daydream of what girls do when they hang out?"

Raven shook her head, mock-spooked, as Octavia jumped to retrieve her phone, vibrating with a text on her cluttered desk. "You're right."

"Oh, oh, it's Jasper!" Octavia grinned, sliding the screen. One of those cardboard takeaway coffee containers was half-full of two lukewarm cups, and there was an empty Krispy Kreme box on the floor. Clarke glanced at the grease marks on Raven's comforter, and kind of appreciated Lexa's housekeeping skills a little more. That sent a stab of some uncomfortable concoction of feelings through her stomach. "She kissed him!"

"Seriously? Is he coming over before he goes back to his room, it's like, eleven,"

"On the cheek! But still." Octavia grinned, tapping away.

"Pfffft." Raven shook her head. "Don't think that counts."

"Let the kid have his glory," Octavia scolded.

Clarke laid back on Octavia's bed, staring at the posters on the ceiling. _It's not my place to judge,_ Clarke reminded herself. _Each to their own. I don't know what happened with Costia. If she wants to think like that, then that's up to her._ But it just seemed so... It was sad, in Clarke's humble opinion. Like she wasn't really living. And she was trying to wrap her head around it - slowly, like a snake with its prey - and she knew she shouldn't cast judgement on anyone or whatever way they wanted to live their life. But what about her _parents_? Her family? What about - so much depended on the human ability to love each other. She was no philosopher. She was a realist - a thinker, but not one who tried to tackle the big questions. She was certaintly not one of those moron bimbos who spent hours considering the meaning of love. But love was basic human nature. Fact.

"Clarke? Hello?" Raven's fingers snapping in front of her face made her jump, slightly.

"Anyone home?" Clarke looked back across at her friends just in time for Octavia's sock to hit her in the face, thrown to punctuate her retort.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about - class," Clarke shook her real train of thought off track. Then tried to set fire to it. "What are you saying?"

"Clarke, stop mooning after your girlfriend and talk to us," Raven threw her one of the crackers from the packet she was demolishing. What the fuck is she even talking about? "We need you to come with us when we all go camping at Mount Weather,"

"What do you mean?" Clarke snapped the cracker in half.

"She means - never mind. We can talk about it tomorrow. Game night, right? Still up for it?" Octavia flopped down onto the beanbag on the floor.

"Why not?" Clarke supposed. It would be good to take her mind off things; to give her thoughts a break.

"Hell yeah!" Raven cheered. "The new _Halo_'s out."

"I asked Lincoln, I think he's gonna come again. Did you see if Lincoln's done any more portraits yet?"

She didn't even get that that was a joke until Raven laughed. She really needed to get some sleep. When, a blurrily uintelligble amount of time later, Clarke's eyes next wandered to the tiny alarm clock balanced on their windowsill, the minute hand was creeping over half-past midnight and she resiliantly admitted she had to sleep if she wanted to be up early enough for class. _When did I become such a fucking nerd?_ She sighed and eased herself up off of Octavia's bed. "I should probably go,"

"Are you_ sure_ you don't want to stay?" Octavia tried, one last time.

"My sleeping bag is very comfortable," Raven sang.

Clarke shook her head. "No, I'm going go leave you in peace,"

"There's no peace, I live with Octavia."

"Good luck with Raccoon Face!"

"Night," Clarke found her keys in her pocket and somehow, her way back into her dormitory block. She was still hung up on Lexa's unique belief system, and it only intensified the more she closed the amount of physical space between them. She didn't know whether Lexa would be in or awake, so she tried to be the considerate roommate (aside from the inapropriate drunk comments and the philosophical clashes) and turn her key quietly - something which, she learned, was_ literally impossible_. The darkness inside wasn't surprising, and she slipped in on tiptoes, skipping her usual hygene routine and climbing into bed, burrying her face under her pillow.

She could hear Lexa breathing from under her blankets, a few metres away.

She could tell she was awake.

-0-

After lunch the next day, Clarke knew what she had to do.

Lexa had been long gone by the time she was awake and up - which had been a blessing and a curse. It had given her space to think, although she'd probably been overthinking everything since the moment she first stepped into that damned dorm room. So Lexa was - incredibly unique. She'd known that from the start, hadn't she? Tapping the end of her pen against her desk during her last morning class, Clarke decided there was absolutely no point in letting things be as complicated as they were; she cut Astronomy, her only afternoon class, to work out.

And while she was showering, after, sloughing shampoo from her hair, it felt like she was washing away all the worry as well, the remains swimming down the drain and out of her life. (Of course, her hair dryer exploded almost directly afterwards, but that wasn't the point.) She was just going back to the cafeteria to get a wrap or something when she caught sight of a familiar figure, and, steeled with a rediscovered sense of grit and and resolve, set her shoulders back and hurried up to her. "Anya." Anya did not look impressed, and she had probably killed men using only her cheekbones but Clarke was not about to be beaten. "I want to talk to you."

"Then maybe you should have shown up for class, ever think of that?" Anya slung her bag over her shoulder. Clarke resisted the childish impulse to roll her eyes. _How come everybody's taller than me? _

"About Lexa." She knew everything in that class backwards anyway. (Mostly due to the push of the woman in front of her, but still.) Clarke caught the slight change in Anya's demeanour with an odd satisfaction. "I want you to let her know that there's no hard feelings. That she's fine, and I'm fine, and everything is fine."

Anya raised an eyebrow, composure flawlessly regained. "Why can't you tell her yourself? You do still live together."

"Because," Clarke told her, begrudgingly. "Because she listens to you." _And I happen to know for a fact that today's the day you share a class and you usually walk her back to the dorm just as I'm going off for game night._ She didn't add that. She didn't want to sound weird. (You live with someone, you pick stuff up!) (It was _not_ weird.)

Anya paused, studying her for a moment, which would have been considerably uncomfortable if Clarke had let it be. After a while, and some unfathomable inner descion, Anya's terrifyingly well made-up eyes met hers. "She listens to you too." Clarke got the sense she wasn't just talking about hearing. She opened her mouth to say something that escaped her, and Anya cut her off. "I know it might not seem like it to you, but she's let you in." Anya stared her down. "That's not easy for her."

Anya had carried on down the hallway before Clarke had even processed that. She frowned, leaning back against the wall and accidently whacking her head against it.

...And she was back to trying to decipher unsettling conversations with awesome-haired grounders.

For some bizarre reason that last sentence made her feel almost proud, underneath the whole mess of crap. It was echoing around her brain as she ate, later, sitting across from Jasper and Monty (Octavia had a late class and Raven was interviewing for the mechanic place in town), bouncing around between possibilities, and, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something that went straight to her triumphant smile. Clarke Griffin was not about to be beaten. She crumpled the wrapper from her food in her hand and stood up, going over to where the queue had dispersed and ignoring her friends' confusion, proud of her idea as she swiped her card.

Before she left her empty dormitory for Bellamy's and the evenings' game night, she laid half of the angel cake on Lexa's pillow, pleased with the general effect as she grabbed her keys and headed out.

"Hi," _Fuck_, that scared her. Clarke jumped as she locked the door, turning around to find Lincoln, carrier bag of Xbox controllers in one hand. She must have looked confused about that, because he thought it necessary to explain. "Octavia broke one last time, I didn't know if her brother had bought a new one yet."

Clarke nodded as the two of them started walking, wondering whether they were about to run into Lexa and Anya . "Right. Well that's nice of you."

"Peace offering." Lincoln corrected bluntly. "He's not my biggest fan."

"He's not the biggest fan of any male human being who looks twice at Octavia." Clarke hoped she sounded more comforting than just plain bitchy and realized too late that she'd just openly stated the obvious burgeoning relationship between he and her friend. "But he'll come around. He's just trying to look out for her." Maybe she'd made it worse. They weren't officially anything yet -_ I mean, it's fucking obvious, but still. _

"I'm glad." Lincoln assured her. "But he has to understand that she'd old enough and intelligent enough to make her own descisions."

"Yeah," Clarke said - it was the most non committal sound she could make. This really wasn't any of her business. And the unspoken insinuation that Octavia and he were or were soon to become an (official) item made everything awkward. (Not as awkward as Clarke's sudden realization that Wick and Raven would possibly be in the same room again.) (Or as awkward as wondering whether Lexa would mention the cake when they next spoke.) (But still pretty awkward.)

When they arrived at Bellamy's, everyone else had already set up camp. Clarke could feel the tension just seeping out of her. This was going to be great, she told herself, as she went to the kitchen, accepted the funky mango stuff (it had become tradition - what could she say?) Bellamy offered her, fell into some embarassingly fifth-grade trash talk with Monty. Game night had become a haven - their reliable, childish haven, Clarke thought as she made her way into the main room. There was nothing at game night that could mess her up. Nothing could spoil game night. "Sup, Princess,"

_Motherfuck_.

"Murphy?" Clarke could literally feel the outrage, the horror flushing into her face. She whipped around to find Raven following her through into the sitting room. Raven just shrugged, worming past. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too," What was it about that guy that just made her fingers curl into a fist just itching to punch the smirk off him? _Fucking Milhouse-faced dick. _

Clarke took a deep breath, and decided not to beat him over the head with her shoe. Instead, she was going to be the bigger person. He was one of them, in a way, after all. She couldn't bring herself to go so far as smiling, but she looked him levelly in the eye, and that was more than that loser deserved anyway. "I"m going to beat the shit out of you at Halo." And she moved on by.

Clarke gravitated toward her regular spot on the most ancient couch crammed into the guys' living room. She sincerely hoped that Wick wasn't around - Raven didn't look like she was in the best mood to start with. (And an unhappy Raven was a competitive Raven.) While the guys were freaking out about some new war game (they'd learnt not to talk about Grand Theft Auto in front of Clarke.) (She'd one of her femminist fits last time and terrified most of them.), and Raven was trying to help untangle some chargers, Clarke realized it was here that she agreed to go to that goddamn party. Her brief conversation with Anya kept playing over and over in her mind, winding around images of stripy cake icing and eyeliner.

"Someone's in a better mood," Octavia commented, flopping down beside her with an age-old DS in her hand. _Hipster gamer_. Clarke had no idea why that comment offended her. That was a good thing. "You and Nineteenth-Century Hot Topic kissed and made up?" Okay. _That_ was offensive.

"Can you not make comments like that every two minutes," Clarke glanced at her Nintendo. She was playing _Animal Crossing_.

"I keep it real and you love me." Octavia informed her.

"If it's love you're looking for, try him," Clarke nodded toward Lincoln at the cost of an Octavia-elbow in the ribs.

"Shut up," Octavia's stylus tapped away furiously, making her little guy run around its' house. "Also, when did Murphy become a part of this?"

"I have no idea," Clarke downed the rest of her sparkling mango drink, tossing the can into the bin across the room, feeling absurdly proud when it clattered in. _Damn, that stuff grows on you_. "See how long that lasts."

"Bell hasn't punched him yet," Octavia shrugged, glancing up at the TV. "So that's a win."

"Is it?" Clarke muttered. Raven and Jasper had taken the first go; she vaguely recalled Finn saying something about waiting for that game to be released. She wondered if maybe he was playing it, in his college, all those miles away, surrounded by his new friends and a new - she cut herself off before she could even think the word _girlfriend_. She'd moved on by this point, yes. But it was still a strangely foreign thought. She glanced at Raven, grinning and jerking her controller up as if that would somehow help.

Every time Clarke started to feel comfortable with her again, she had to go think about Finn and fuck it all up.

-0-

Clarke was so hung up on the oddly nostalgic thought of what Finn might have been doing that exact second - she'd never thought that before and it was freaking her out - that she barely remembered that she should have felt awkward regarding cake-topped pillows. She turned her key in her dorm room door, shaking out her hair - the rain had returned with vengeance just as she was hurrying back into her dormitory block.

Lexa was sitting on her bed, free of makeup, writing something, presumably for a class. Clarke couldn't see any sign of the cake. Was that a good thing? She really wasn't good at this. Oh well. She shut the door and collapsed down onto her bed._ Harry Potter_ lay dejectedly on her desk - she could write off the rest of the day and read. The clock beside her bed said it was almost eleven. Later than she'd thought. Clarke shook out her wet jacket and went to hang it over the radiator, her breath misting up the fateful window. Beyond, the sky and the cloud and the stars in the night all blurred into one mass of darkness.

"How are you?"

Clarke almost jumped out of her skin. She wondered if Anya had cut her some slack or if Lexa was reaching out of her own accord. She didn't really care. Had she experienced a cake-induced epiphany? _Whatever_. You had to take the miracles you were given. She pulled on her slippers, going to sit cross-legged on her duvet. "I'm good," I think. No - she was. She had great friends, and she was doing well in all her classes. Her mom had backed off a little, but they still talked a lot. "It's still a little awkward with Raven. But I'm good."

Lexa considered. "Good."

Clarke smiled for half a second. Then she remembered she'd never actually told Lexa anything regarding Raven or Finn. (In retrospect, Lexa had never actually told her anything regarding Costia, but she'd worked that out well enough.) "I mean, it's not awkward. It just feels... Weird, sometimes." And just like that, some inner faucet was turned on and the words were just rushing out of her, filling their room right up. She wasn't worrying about whether Lexa cared, or was even listening - she just needed to get it all out, out of her. It had all been stuck in her head, squashed out of the way for so long. She just needed to talk. "Because I was the homewrecker. I was the one who started it all." Clarke sighed, flopping back against her pillows. She could hardly stop now; she already felt the weight lifting. "Raven had gone off to camp, last summer and I had this job at the stupid little movie theatre back home. He'd been working there for months. I didn't even know if he was still _with_ Raven. He was smart. I think he assumed long-distance relationships were too hard for them, he knew they were going off to different colleges. I think he'd already moved on. But Finn was charming, and he made me laugh and I wasn't going to deny what we both knew was going on. I loved him. Eventually. Then Raven came home and I remembered how cool she was and that made me feel worse. She was still holding on. She figured it out pretty quickly. He got weird. Everything turned to shit. I felt awful. I knew it had to end. He looked like I'd stabbed his heart out. It sucked." Clarke stopped talking and it was only in that silence that she realized Lexa was looking up from her coursework, watching, listening intently, the storm-tossed ocean of her eyes shining in the lamplight. Clarke shook her head. "Raven and I are getting along again. It's just, every so often it's like… What did we do to each other? But - never mind."

She tried to look away, to reach for her book and get on with her evening but she somehow couldn't bring herself to. Clarke was too aware of her breathing. When Lexa spoke, her voice was softer than usual, but she still just commanded attention. "I lost someone special to me too, you know," _I know_. "Her name was Costia. She was harassed by some homophobics I'd gotten into a few fights with. They sent her threatening messages, called her names. Because she was mine. Her parents found out. And I never saw her again."

_Lexa..._

Clarke felt her entire body in the sigh she hadn't sanctioned. Her own little drama was suddenly thrown into harsh consideration and all of a sudden seemed like a particularly bad episode of the Kardashians. If she'd been able to move, she might have just jumped her and hugged her until she couldn't let go. Something curdled in her stomach. _So you just stopped caring, about everyone_. Guilt for her earlier thoughts rippled through her. God, there was so much under that girl's skin. A wave of rain rattled against the glass of their window in the autumn wind. She wondered if she should say something, but she didn't want to pollute the godawful, roaring silence that was knitting them together.

Lexa's mouth was set but Clarke was growing adept at reading the flicker in her eyes.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Y'all love the intensity and you know it. I also love you all and you should know that. In other news, I recently discovered that Jason confirmed Clarke and Lexa might continue to happen, which, pssh we all knew anyway but still. Victory. Also, I apologize for the short filleryness of this chapter, but I think the next few should make up for it...

**14.**

"Clarke - I can't hear you, can you hear me?"

"Mom - Mom, you have to turn it up at the speakers -" Clarke sighed, typing out her message. Why did anyone even bother trying to Skype anyone over the age of twenty-nine? What was it with parents and these things? Her mom was a _doctor_. Her mom was supposed to be smart. "See, it's sorted."

"Hey, I can hear you!" Abby's delighted smile should have put a matching one on her daughters, but Clarke had been so caught up in everything that had been going on she couldn't quite bring herself to try. "You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Yes," Clarke lied, with a twinge of annoyance.

"Okay," Abby allowed. "Don't worry about the courses too much. I know you're gonna do well." _It's not the courses_. Clarke and Lexa hadn't had any weightier conversations since, but she could feel the shift. The ripple. And beneath it, everything was deeper. There was more meaning behind everything. Clarke rarely found herself sitting back and thinking _what the actual fuck_ anymore. She wasn't entirely sure it was better.

"I'm doing well. How's things, how's everyone?"

"Great, really great. We're jammed at the hospital but it keeps my mind off things. I'm still not used to you not being here. You're coming home for Thanksgiving?"

"Of course," Clarke was actually pleased about that - when she and her mother had been crammed constantly together in one house, she felt the heat. They were too similar. Two strong personalities under one roof was a shout out for trouble. But she did love her mother, and the separation, however strange it sounded, was almost cathartic. And for what seemed like the first time, she was actually looking foreward to seeing her mother in the flesh. (As long as they didn't have too much direct contact, they'd be fine.) (Much like the sun.)

"Great, great. We can make turkey together." _Sounds like a blast._ "So how's everything going?"

"Really great," _Also, the strange grounder I share my life with has a completely justifiable reason for all her strangeness and now I know that I'm very aware of that and I kind of want to hug her forever._ "Wallace is going to give us our fall semester final today, I think, so we have ages to work on it. We're all dying from anticipation."

"You're one of the few freshmen in there for a reason, Clarke,"

For some reason, that needled her. She knew that - and it wasn't arrogance or anything, but she was aware she didn't claw her way into that course for pity. Her own mother ought to have known her better than that. After all, she never said that she was worried. "Speaking of, I want to go for a run before class, Octavia's dragging me with her on this crazy new fitness plan, so,"

"Okay." Abby nodded. "Well, thanks for helping me set up Skype. I'll call you later."

"See you," Clarke clicked the video call off and closed her laptop, changing from her pyjamas to her running gear. She had no idea why Octavia had decided on this shocking turn of events, but she was going with it. It'd be nice to have someone to work out with.

-0-

"But," Clarke panted, keeping pace with her friend as they jogged through the one park in town that she'd never been in before, beneath the constant drip of stale rain from the leafy canopy overhead. Beyond, the sky was faded colourless. "I just don't get why now?" She'd been trying to coax Octavia into the gym for years. (It was probably offensive to ask if she'd had a freshman fifteen scare.)

"I stalked Lincoln on Facebook," Octavia told her, as if that were the most obvious thing. Clarke raised an eyebrow in query. "And he literally has the best body in the world,"

_Because that answered my question._ No - she probably didn't want to know. "Good to know."

"I'm not just talking _good_ good," Octavia informed her, as they rounded a corner. "I mean, that guy puts Taylor Lautner to shame." Clarke never did understand the fuss about him.

"So, why are you working out now?"

"I gotta keep up."

"I really don't need the details," Clarke paused for a moment, draining most of her water bottle and flushing with either the exercise or the realization that with all the stuff she'd seen her do across the gym, Lexa probably had a great body under the hardass coat. _Fuck_. What did she think that for? _Anything else, anything else_. But the image, like everything else regarding her roommate, was resiliant. It just wouldn't budge. She threw down the rest of her water, and wondered when it got so damn hot.

"Are you blushing?" Octavia asked, incredulous. "Jesus, Clarke nothing's actually happened. It's not like I said anything."

_Nope. My mind did, though_. Endlessly disturbed by whatever the hell that had been, Clarke sped up, trying to focus on the erratic thudding of her heart, and the increasing fury of her abused Nikes pounding the gravel footpath, the soothingly cool wind cutting into her burning skin. She ran until she couldn't think anymore, and only when Octavia grabbed on her shoulder with all the force of overcooked spaghetti in her arm, did she realize she was dizzy. "Holy shit, Clarke," Clarke blinked, and took the water bottle Octavia handed her. "That was _hardcore_. What the hell happened?"

_Oh, you know. Entertaining pervy thoughts about my female roommate. The usual._ "I had an energy burst." Maybe this was just what happened when you lived with somebody for months without actually ever seeing them undress - natural inquisitivity. Lexa's classes all started so early, Clarke never even saw her in the morning, and Clarke always changed after her showers, in the bathrooms down the hall. Which wasn't anything to do with shyness or manners - she was proud of her body and, although perhaps it was the doctor in her, she never understoood squeamishness about nudity. Everyone was naked under their clothes; that was simply what humans looked like. But it just never seemed to coincide. And she couldn't be blamed, really.

(Sometimes she thought Lexa was driving her insane.)

-0-

"Watercolour," Wallace was concluding. Clarke liked the way he spoke. It gave her something to focus on. He had that elderly mannerism of slowly secreating his sentences, like he was savouring every word, like every syllable really mattered. "It has that rare diversity, that wide creative spectrum. It's the reason I've chosen a medium, a format for your fall final, than a style. Realist or abstract, portrait, landscape, avant-garde, classical... Explore your own abilities with it and you might find yourself surprised." In the row of students in front of her, Clarke saw Lincoln's shoulders collapse in disappointment. All around her, people were looking a little confused, or a little nervous, but she could tell from the calm in the professor's expression that he knew what he was doing. "To be turned in for our final session this semester. Be warned, it will contribute a considerable amount to your final grade."

Those were the first words of the day that really took up the necessary head space she needed, so she latched on and refused to let go.

She was sitting on her bed, with music flowing at an absurd decibel through her old headphones as wore out her wrist strength in paint. Clarke knew this afternoons' laughably early attempts were not going to prove fruitful. But she had to try, had to practise, had to take her mind off of other things. Outside, she could hear the raucous shouts of the closest frat dicking about - reapers, she thought they called themselves. (Clarke called them morons and probably junkies.) It was all just time-passing mind space, really, but she was still annoyed when Raven's jokey contact picture flashed onto her phone screen, accompanying her ringtone.

Clarke sighed, swiping the answer symbol. Oddly enough, after her big, therapist-office-esque release to Lexa, she found it miles easier to be around Raven. The tiny discomfiting thing that always hardened whenever she saw her or thought the wrong thoughts had been unravelled, released. It was weird. She dried her paintbrush off and laid back on her bed. "Hi."

"Hey, Clarke!" Raven cheered, a note of hasty distraction in her voice. "Our dorm, ten minutes. Dominoes are on Bert and Ernie." Somewhere in the background, Clarke made out Jasper shouting _we are not gay puppets_. She rolled her eyes even though nobody could see, somewhat grateful of the distraction. Raven hung up before she could reply.

Clarke cleared away her puny artistic attempts, dumping the polluted paint-water into the potted plant that lived in the space where her energy became Lexa's. Not that Lexa's side of the room was any less intruiging and perplexing than Lexa herself. Her first day, she'd thought the lack of anything sentimental meant she had only half unpacked. Ha. It felt a little too first-world-problems of her to cower underneath an umbrella for a two-minute walk over to the next dorm block, so she zipped a hoodie beneath her jacket, and grabbed her phone and keys, heading out with a final look at Lexa's deserted side of the dormitory.

She was the last to arrive at ther friends' room, judging by the wall of sound eminating from behind the door. She could hear the shouting halfway down the hall; how the inhabitants hadn't been evicted yet, she had no idea. Clarke had to bang twice on the door before she realized they weren't listening, and also, that it was open. "Hey,"

"Clarkester!"

"The Justice League is complete!"

"Nerd."

She grinned, collapsing onto the beanbag on the floor, stripping off her jacket. "So why the sudden call to arms?" Octavia tossed her a slice of pizza, and if not for the famous Griffin reflexes, Clarke would have ended up covered in grease and sweetcorn.

"We're here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative," Monty composed himself long enough to inform her, before Raven mock-groaned.

"_Enough_ with the Marvel,"

"We realized we still didn't talk to you about the trip," Slightly confused that Octavia was the one being serious for once - honestly, Lincoln was doing great things for her - Clarke tossed the half-eaten pizza slice into one of the empty Dominoes boxes nearest to her. She wasn't hungry.

"What trip?"

"Glad you asked," Raven crossed her legs and sat foreward on her bed. "So, as your crazy roommate may or may not have told you," The irritable voice in Clarke's head snapped _leave her alone_, but she squashed it before it spilled out of her mouth. "Every year, a huge mass of grounders get together and camp at the base of Mount Weather."

"Well, a bunch of non-grounders usually tag along, according to my flawless sources, and Lincoln's invited us all to come along. Friday." Octavia announced, and then winked. "You can thank me later."

"That actually sounds really great," Clarke realized. She hadn't camped for so long, and she'd only the other day been saying she needed to explore the mountain. Her new home was such a stunning place, with all the trees and Mount Weather in the background, and yet she'd barely seen any of it. (Of course, adjusing to university life took up a lot of time.) (As did dealing with the world's weirdest, hottest, most intruiging, disarming and addictively infuriating roommate.) And it would be a welcome change to get out of the dorm for a night or two.

She text her mom before she went to sleep, for her to send down her tent.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** This chapter was alternatively known as Spot The Cast Vines Reference because the cast of this show are adorable little balls of awesomeness and the opportunities just kept coming up. As always, thank you to everyone reading, following, etc. I told you it was worth waiting out the building blocks of my slow burn. So depending on what else I have to do, I might upload another chapter in a minute, simply because I'm not going to be able to upload for about a week now.

**15**.

"Mount Weather!"

"Mount Weather!"

"Mount Weather!"

Octavia, Jasper and Monty were dancing around in a circle, chanting some terrifyingly voodoo-like sound at a volume Clarke really wasn't comfortable with. The Friday of the trip had dawned crisp and clear and miraculously cloudless, despite the knife-edge breeze enforcing the prescence of autumn. The four of them were waiting around the start of the trail, holding out for the rest of their little pack before they started the trek through the woods that surrounded Mount Weather. Every few minutes a gaggle of students with tent bags would pass, and they'd exchange nods. Clarke was a little baffled by the sheer amount of them. _I__s anybody in class this afternoon?_ She shifted the straps of her backpack in the brisk, bright pre-evening air and tried to look as if she was not in any way connected to the trio of lunatics peforming retarded tribal chants by the curb.

"Hey!"

"Hi,"

She turned around gratefully. Raven and Wick were jogging up to them, unsurprisingly engaged in some kind of bantering bicker (or possibly verbal foreplay) with Bellamy and a few of his friends a few metres behind (most likely to avoid being singed by the Wick-Raven sparks). "We all ready?"

"Yeah, we're just waiting for Lincoln," _Speak of the devil_ \- Clarke noticed a familiarly the-kind-of-ripped-you-can-see-even-with-clothes-on, headphones-ed figure coming up the road towards them.

"Um," Raven, apparantly, hadn't heard that. "What are they doing?"

Clarke glanced back at Octavia, Jasper and Monty. All of them had some form military-esque face paint on, and they were still doing the chant. "I have no idea."

"Hey," Bellamy and the others caught up to them the same time Octavia and Lincoln noticed one another across the street, and Octavia broke away from the worring chant-circle to wave and shout and bound over to the mature adults. (Okay.) (Just slightly less obviously insane teenagers.) It was amusing how Bellamy's light expression darkened at that. _She's nineteen years old_, Clarke thought to herself - _let go._

As the group of them set off down the trail into the woods, Clarke felt oddly peaceful, surrounded by pine and fern and friends. However fucking cheesy it felt to admit; she always liked going places that weren't quite so tampered with by humans. Octavia and Lincoln were grinning so goofily, shoving each other and discussing everything under the stars and their illuminating joy was infectious. It was sickening. After a while, Lincoln hurried on to talk to some of his grounder friends who were following the trail ahead, and Clarke found herself beside her friend, with her thoughts spewing carelessly out into the open. "So are you and Lincoln officially a thing now?"

Octavia took her time with answering that (and enjoyed every second, the smug bitch). "Who knows?" She shrugged happily, as they trudged on through the leaves. "Whatever it is, I'm really enjoying it." Clarke raised her eyebrow. "Come on, like you can really comment on New Agey relationships,"

_Is that offensive?_ Clarke was still in an untouchably good mood, but that wasn't to stop her being confused. "Are you talking about Finn?"

"No," Octavia stared at her, grinning, like there was some joke she didn't get.

But Monty caused a diversion involving a centipede and a Pringle, and then Lincoln returned, so Clarke never did find out what that joke was. She shook it off, falling back to listen to Jasper's constant stream of Maya-talk. They were just coming onto the concrete part of the trail, where more and more grounders were coming into view. And... _Well, fuck_. Clarke stopped short. She blinked, as if that would somehow clear away all the illusions. Apparantly not; the intricate mane of dark hair, the crazy-ass eye makeup, the coat that was fucking haunting her. Clarke sighed, hurrying to catch up with the others.

"You didn't tell me Lexa was going to be here,"_ And nor did she_. For some reason, the latter annoyed her more. Octavia was smirking.

"She's like, the queen of the grounders, where else was she going to be?" Raven shrugged.

"Right," Clarke didn't understand; Lexa had seen her packing, Lexa… _Shouldn't be occupying so much head space_. She looked away, carefully avoiding Lexa's direction. She was going to have the best fucking time she could. And she was not, absolutely _not_ going to waste her time worrying about her roommate. "Let's go camp." Somehow, with the trees and the mountain and Lexa a few steps out of reach, something odd was returning to her from afar. Her hangover dream; with the crashed spaceship, and the army. Huh. She knew there was more to it than that, which was annoying - she just couldn't quite grab on to the rest yet.

"Hey, share the trail, Clarke!" Jasper was yelling, a few paces behind. _What?_ Clarke glanced downward. The concrete beneath her ordered the same thing, words painted on either side of the divisiary line.

Determined to enjoy herself, Clarke glanced back at her friends, taking it upon herself plant a foot on either side of the trail. "Nah," She laughed with them, but apparantly not loudly enough. Lexa didn't look her way. Raven caught up to her, and she gave a cursory "No, no, no, no, no - I don't share!" But Lexa had disappeared around the curve where the trail clung to the side of the mountain's base and wound around.

-0-

The campground was not so much a camp ground as it was 'slightly less dense forest'. The earth was obscured by an auburn spread of dead leaves, the view of the looming mountain by the canopy of late leaves and spindly branches grabbing on to each other. And Clarke couldn't get the pegs of her tent in the ground.

"Having trouble there, princess?" Octavia grinned, sitting smugly on a discarded log and swinging her legs as Lincoln put her tent up for her.

"Nope," Clarke insisted, voice straining, beating all her fury, collected from all her life, into that goddamn peg. It must have been colder than it seemed, or at least by the mountain, because the earth was fucking frozen solid. (Why was it that none of the grounders had this problem?) She blew a rebel strand of blonde hair from her eyes, arm aching, grimly determined. _There you go, you little bastard_ \- she almost had it in when one of Octavia's flip flops hit her in the face.

"Sorry," Octavia winced. Clarke kept on hammering.

Although, later, while a few of the grounders were stoking up a campfire (and establishing a backup supply of emergency fire extinguishers), she wasn't sure why she bothered. It was becoming clear that the Blakes' enormous tent was the prime fall-camping-trip hangout for everyone from Ark. _Oh well_. It was nicer than hers, anyway. And it was where they were collectively gathered, devouring the inconveniently large bag of suger-saturated snacks some idiot (Octavia) had decided would be appropriate to bring along. Clarke sat there, fascinated and horrified as her so-called friends becane ridiculously high on Red Vines and flying saucers, and taking comfort in the persistant rustle of conversing leaves outside. She was pretty sure everybody had forgotten they were sealed off from everybody else by a thin sheet of material that was extraordinarily un-soundproof.

When they ventured back outside, the air had chilled an octave, and the sun dripped a gory scarlet, down beyond the faint horizon, lined with skeletal trees. The mountain was ablaze with a swirl of crimson, sunlight and shadow, the daylight-stained sky streaked with pink and grey. Someone had coaxed flames from the pile of kindling lying in the fire-barrier-safety-first-camping-thing. (Clarke wasn't exactly Bear Grylls with these things.)

People had dragged various branches or foldable chairs around the glow of the fire, and as they joined them, Octavia scrabbled excitedly to produce the packet of marshmallows she'd squirrelled away. "You're seriously eating that shit?" Raven cocked an eyebrow.

"Averse to everything sweet, Reyes?" Wick shot.

_They have no idea_. Clarke smiled to herself, taking the marshmallow Octavia offered her, skewering it through a nearby twig. Her eyes flickered up across the growing dance of the fires. Lexa was sitting with the bearded freshman (she still didn't get that) whose name always escaped Clarke, with the orange firelight waltzing across her downcast face. As the outward light dimmed past the stars and the waxing moon, with the ethereal, earthy glow of fire on her skin, she looked a little bit magical. She must have been looking too long. Her marshmallow was in a disgustingly singed sugary soup on the leaves at her feet. "Fuck," Clarke toed it under a pile of earth, discreetly avoiding looking like a total asshat.

"A toast!" Octavia announced. "To life! To college! To this mountain, and this town, and all you people," She had an arm around Monty's shoulders, and another hooked around a put-off looking Raven, and Lincoln was looking at her with a kind of reverance Clarke ner thought existed outside of Disney.

"Are you high?" Raven demanded. She sounded genuinely concerned for Octavia's sound mind. _Can't blame her, really._

"High on life!" Octavia called, with pride.

"Take the mashmallows away from her," Jasper mouthed conspicuously, and Monty laughed, snatching the packet from her feet and tossing it across Wick to Clarke, who was briefly unsure how to proceed. She threw it back over Octavia's head to Bellamy and his friends.

"Hey, hey, not fair!" Octavia protested, jumping up for a second as the sweets sailed over her head. Lincoln caught them, and took one before passing it behind his back to Raven. He gave the lonely marshmallow to her, and Clarke wondered why the fuck she'd ever doubted soulmates. Those two were so cute that it was going to be the end of her. Someone was passing around a flask of herbal tea. In one of the outlying tents, a guitar was playing. The smoke from the fire was crawling across everything, but Clarke never minded the smell. It reminded her of nights like this. _God, I sound like a bad Lifetime movie._

Across the circle of students, Lexa's grounder crew were calling for something. Clarke didn't grasp what until she gave in, and stood up. "Welcome, everyone, to the annual Mount Weather trip. There's a hike up as far as we can go tomorrow afternoon." Clarke thought it might have been a bit much, but all the grounders were looking to her expectantly and willingly. Clarke tried not to look like she was amongst them. (Why did these people take everything so _seriously_?) "Thank you all for coming."

The bearded grounder guy cheered. Clarke sipped the tea she'd taken; it smelled like the one Lexa drank sometimes in the dorm. _Grounder brew, I guess_. She wasn't smiling, when she sat back down on her chunk of wood, but Clarke accidently caught her eye and thought she might be getting close. She felt an encouraging one dancing on her own lips.

Octavia was making some comment to the guys, and Clarke had the increasing sense it was about her. _Oh well_. She toasted another marshmallow and hid the bag from Octavia.

-0-

When Clarke woke up, she became immediately aware of three things.

Firstly, that it was the middle of the night.

Secondly, that everybody had fallen asleep in the Tardis known as the Blake tent. (Two B was that Lincoln and Octavia had drifted off cuddling in the corner, from which she could pretty confidently deduce Bellamy was going to be pissed off for the rest of the trip.)

And the third was that something abnormal was going outside.

Outside, people were shouting, screaming, laughing, trees and leaves rustling encouragement._ Is that rain_? Something was pattering on the thin material of the tent. Lincoln was starting to sit up, Octavia stirring from her position as the little spoon. She caught Monty's eye; he looked spooked. _What the fuck?_ As her sleeping friends rose in the darkness (with varying degrees of rage), she'd climbed to her feet and shoved out into the freezing night.

She was immediately hit in the face with a jet of more freezing water. "What the fuck is going on?" Clarke demanded. People were running around. Nobody answered.

That was when the guy ran past with the neon-orange water pistol. She frowned at his face for a moment before it clicked - he was one of the dicks always dicking around on the lawn outside their dorm. That frat - reapers? _The ones that always seem high. _Clarke stalked after him in her fuzzy socks, and snatched his water gun before he realized what was going on, spraying him in fierce retaliation. Apparantly, her situation had been repeated across the camp. _Never been part of a fraternity prank before. _

The Ark crew were filtering out of the tent. In the disorientatingly bright starlight, she caught sight of Raven overhanding a sodden sponge across a row of one-man tents. And beyond that, Lexa, with a look that suggested this was the kind of shit she was absolutely done with on her face, and a stolen water gun in her hand. The flourescent, childish design looked entirely out of place and adorable in her hand. She ducked out of the path of a falling water balloon and fired at a reaper guy in the same motion, like some ancient warrior queen. (Armed with a small pink water gun.)

Clarke bore her weapon with responsibility. The absurdity of it all was getting to her, and she was sure that when they told the story later, the hilarity would get to her too - but she was also genuinely _fucked off. _This was her peaceful (to an extent) getaway. They were trying to destroy that. Hence, she should try to destroy them. (With children's toys.)

Through the confusion and laughter and mass of soaked clothes, she caught Lexa's eye. And maybe it was the darkness, the distortion of moonlight and frat war, but she could have sworn she got that smile.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** And onwards we march... As always, thank you all for your continued awesomeness and lovely words. All of us clexa warriors are fabulous. So I'm posting this today instead of at the end of the week because I'm not going to be online till next week and, contrary to popular opinion, I'm not _that_ mean.

**16.**

Clarke woke up, in the morning, in her tiny, coffin-like tent, to a shocking influx of light, the smell of something almost burning on the campfire worming through the zip and into her sleeping bag, and people talking outside. The events of the night were splashing back into focus. Now it was over, it seemed like the funniest thing anyone had ever done. _Naturally_. Her wet socks and sweater were hanging over the guy ropes outside.

She staggered outside in her pyjamas, going over to find Bellamy, Wick, Raven and Jasper having an arm wrestling contest in the awning outside the Blake tent. "Morning,"

"So," Jasper cracked. "How'd you sleep?"

Clarke smirked despite herself. "I hit a frat guy in the ass with a water balloon, I slept fine." In retrospect, it was almost like revenge. (Not that it was the reapers that marked the wrong punch bowl on Halloween.) (But still.) (Frat boys were frat boys.) (As far as Clarke was concerned, all frat boys deserved to be hit in the ass with a water balloon.)

"Did you hear?" Bellamy asked, grabbing a paper plate from the stack and offering her a roll. Clarke accepted, sitting down and breathing in the smell of smoke and soil. "One guy broke his leg last night."

"What?" Clarke frowned. _I'm okay. Legs don't break from water balloons to the ass._

"Yeah, that grounder guy, Gustus?" Wick added, tearing apart the segments of an orange.

"Aparantly one of the frat guys was in a tree. He went up after him and the branch snapped." Raven finished.

"Damn," _Alright._ One casualty. She'd had worse weekends. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, he got to the hospital alright. Some of the grounders have been texting him back and forth." Bellamy told her.

She remembered Gustus. The one with the beard. _Lexa's friend._ Clarke glanced around the nylon and cloth hamlet for a glimpse of insane eyeliner and a black coat. Nothing. Lexa could swear she didn't give a shit, but who was she kidding? _Well, everyone else, apparantly_. As the morning evolved into daylight by the mountainside, and Clarke's pyjamas were replaced with clothes, the portable-barbeque lunch was a slow and unhelpful affair. She caught a few glimpses of her roommate, but Lexa's face was set, guards practically visible. It kicked her in the gut. There was no change, by her meagre observations, as everyone was preparing for the hike, people drifing off up the mountain in trios and clusters.

"Griffin, you coming?" Octavia asked, beside Lincoln. The two of them, plus Raven and Wick, were about to set off.

Clarke shot another hesitant look in the quiet direction of Lexa's tent. She sighed. And she didn't make a descicion. She just drifted. "Give me a second." She turned around, winding through tents and people, until she was outside the one she wanted. "Hey," There was no response. _I know you're in there, you incredible-haired idiot_. She unzipped the zip - it wasn't an invasion of personal space when you lived in each others' personal space constantly. "Hey."

Lexa turned around, as if she expected nothing less than to see her stood there. "Clarke,"

"Lexa..." Clarke took a tentative step toward her. Lexa seemed tough, but she was really just like a little baby deer. You had to be careful, or she'd spook herself and hide away. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know Gustus is your friend -"

_Spooked_. "The doctors say it's just a small fracture. Why should that affect me?"

Lexa's defences were feebler than usual, translucent in the tent-filtered sunlight. And she wasn't sure whether it was the edge to her voice, or the empowerment of having caused a toy-armed fraternity to retreat from a mass prank, or the shade of Lexa's eyes but Clarke was suddenly filled with a torrent of frustration, of strength, of need, or stubbornness and honesty, rising and cresting and breaking over her every cell. "What is wrong with you?" She could her her voice swelling, and she knew the tents were thin, but she didn't care at all. "You can't just shut away every human emotion that comes your way."

Lexa looked at her for a moment, clearly not anticipating such blatant protest. "Yes, I can."

Something about the cursive line of her eyelashes and the disrepair in her eyes crumpled Clarke's heart a little bit. "That's not - that's not good for you, Lexa."

"That's just how you feel."

"_Yes_." Clarke drew herself up on the wave, compelling her roommate to look at her(self), face her(self). She was done with this game they were playing, advancing until she had to meet her gaze. "You say having feelings makes me weak, but you're weak for hiding from them. I may be a hypocrite, Lexa, but you're a liar. You feel something about your friend, in the hospital. You're still haunted by Costia." She saw the shift in Lexa's face and knew she couldn't stop now. "You pretend to be above it all, but I see right through you." There wasn't enough tent left, and she left Lexa nowhere left to run. It was time to deal with everything. "There's a hundred people here right now who mean something, but you've locked them all so far out they don't know a thing."

Clarke delved deeper into her eyes, searching for... Something. Something was there all right, but it wasn't the something she'd expected. She wasn't sure what it was. Lexa spoke softly, and carefully. "Not everyone. Not you."

Something collapsed inside Clarke's chest. "If you - if you..." She blinked, a jolt of warmth sparking through her like a current. "Care about me, then listen to me." She couldn't - Clarke gathered her breath and put it back in her lungs, where it belonged, shivering as she left, praying to a diety she didn't think she believed in for something she wasn't sure what to call.

All around, the campground was emptying as people began the hike, laughing, eating, sharing flasks. Lincoln and Octavia were gone; which was probably for the best. She didn't want to be _that_ third wheel. She grabbed her backpack from her tent, locating Jasper and Monty, trying to shake the feeling of... Whatever the fuck that was, and she was almost beginning to succeed when Indra passed, with a few of her friends. "Clarke," she called, "I think Lexa wants to see you before you leave,"

Jasper and Monty exchanged a look. Assclowns. "I'll - I'll be right back, okay?" _Will I be?_ "You go on, I can catch up." She amended, turning around to face fate (in incredible eyeliner) and wondering whether life would have been a whole lot easier if she studied someplace else. "You wanted to talk to me?" Clarke strode through the half-open zip, strength massed, guards on standby.

"Yes." Lexa paused for a moment, openly searching, their eyes meeting in a way that devastated her, for whatever reason."I do listen to you, Clarke," Clarke nodded. This woman was a mystery, a quest, and she was unravelling, achieving in front of her. "I know you think the way I cope is harsh, but it's the way I live my life."

"That doesn't sound like living to me." Clarke told her softly. "Don't you deserve better than that?"

"Maybe I do."

And in the infinite heartbeat before, Clarke wasn't surprised. There was no epiphany, as her gaze nestled further into Lexa's eyes, assuringly. No shock. She knew; perhaps she'd always known. But then Lexa's lips met hers, so soft and warm and real, and her eyelids dropped, and her skin awoke, and her heart melted into the boiling roll of her stomach. The breath vanished from her lungs. Lexa's hand found her face and seared her skin. The logic fell from her mind. She could feel her roommate's pulse dancing under her skin. Electricity cracked through her veins. God, she needed more. It was like plunging into the darkest, most violent, uncharted depth of the ocean to find she was breathing better than she'd done in her life, and everything, everything was suddenly illuminated.

Clarke's fingers burrowed into Lexa's hair, soft as she'd always thought it would be. Fireworks, eclipses, avalanches, had never been so insignificant, so cuckolded by this feeling. One of her arms went around Lexa's waist, drawing her closer, and she was so warm, and something that died with her relationship with Finn was stirring, resurrected by her mouth, working slowly, perfectly in motion with hers. Lexa's heart beat against hers, and she became immortal. Somewhere a million miles away, someone was calling Lexa's name.

And then Lexa's lips were not under hers, and she had to mentally slap herself before she realized Indra was standing at the tent's now-unzipped entrance, and she felt her face on fire. _Fuck_. Clarke realized too late than she needed to remove her grip from Lexa's waist. _Fuck. Actual fucking fuck._ She figured it was probably a good time to say something clever, but Clarke was pretty sure she was never going to be able to say anything again ever. "Hi,"

"I just wanted to let you know we're starting the hike now," Indra's dark eyes flickered from Clarke to Lexa. "But if you two are busy -"

"No," Lexa, pink and flustered, managed. "We were just on our way out."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~ **She's her lobster! (Friends reference.) Also I think you all might enjoy the fact that my mother refers to Octavia Blake as a 'samurai fairy'. I know the last chapter was show-based purely because I have a deep emotional connection to 2x14 (don't we all?) but I can promise there's hardly any more of that from here on out. Also, in the interest of shameless self-advertizing, I'm writing a reunion three-shot, so if anyone wants to check that out, it's called After Effects.

**17\. **

"Clarke! Hey!" Octavia jumped down from a nearby rock, giving her a heart attack. The sunlight, obscured by clouds for hours, was fading away in the onset of the evening. Most everyone was back at their tents now - but she hadn't seen Octavia all day. Clarke had seen a thousand other things, though; the soft edge of Lexa's gaze in the moment after a kiss, and raw sunlight dancing on her hair, caught in her eyes, the view of the city spread out like a tapestry from the overpowering beauty of Mount Weather. Everything that had happened on the hike today had been so defined, so perfectly clear, razor-sharp. Life in IMAX.

"Hey," Clarke smiled, going back to the campfire. She'd left to retrieve her jacket from the tent - and Octavia from the woods, apparantly. "I didn't see you on the hike,"

Octavia grinned, hopping over a guy rope and walking with her toward the smoke of the fire, and the sound of music being played on somebody's acoustic 's always one. "Nope,"

"What, you and Lincoln went off to forage for berries and make out in the trees?" She smiled, and Octavia shoved her arm lightly.

"Well, we didn't actually forage for berries." She raised an eyebrow meaningfully. Clarke shouldn't have been surprised.

"You -"

"And not in a tree." Octavia had that goofy-idiot-rom-com look in her eyes. _And this is Octavia. There's no hope for any of us._ "But we got bored of waiting for you to come out of Apocalypto Maybelline's tent, so we went on, and we were barely half an hour into the hike when we kind of veered off on our own. And he showed me this really beautiful stream, and we went up the other side of the mountain, and it just kind of happened." She sat down on a chunk of dismembered tree at the fireside. _Don't talk to me about just kind of happened._

Clarke could have done the decent-friend thing and spilled all about her own experience. But, beside the fact she didn't actually want to, it'd have felt like... Like stealing her thunder. And the world had been waiting for Lincoln and Octavia for what seemed like forever. "Wow," Clarke sat beside her, catching Lexa's eye across the flames. "That's actually great."

Octavia beamed. "Yup. Don't tell Bellamy. Hey - where is Bellamy, anyway?"

"No idea, your tent?" Clarke shrugged. "He's going to find out sometime."

"Yep," Octavia agreed. Clarke almost forgot to moniter what came from her mouth. She almost said everything she was thinking. _You're really just fearless, aren't you? You're really admirable, for not overthinking. For not worrying. For not getting hung up, for living in the moment._ She shook the almost away. "I never want this trip to end."

"I don't know. Reaper attacks kind of put a damper on things," Clarke didn't realize the pun until she said it. Octavia snorted at its awfulness.

"Well, I'm gonna go get changed," Octavia informed her. "I'm fucking freezing."

"Great." Clarke glanced after her friend, clambering over the log she was sat on. And then she was alone, watching her breath curl silvery in the air. She'd never wanted to turn off her thoughts so much. They kept coming back, no matter how hard she fought. _Humanity is a ridiculous condition_. And she supposed she was like, officially bisexual now. So there was that.

Although that didn't worry her so much, to her own surprise. It wasn't like anyone in her family would care. It wasn't like she was obsessed with labels either. (And this had brought to light a series of telling signs she probably should have picked up on earlier; the eighth-grade binge of every movie Scarlett Johanssen had ever been in; the Glee phase she didn't talk about; that time the school did swimming lessons and she got a little too hung up on her new friend Octavia in a two-piece.) It'd have all come to light sooner or later anyway. And what did it matter, really? It just meant she had double the chance of love and happiness.

Although she was pretty sure that love and happiness wasn't what happened when you lived in literally the same room as the hot (and somewhat screwed up) girl you were unnecessarily intruiged by and who you also made out with.

Clarke realized, glancing toward where Lexa sat on a camping chair in the open front of one of the grounders' tents, with a crowd of her cool-haired, badass-looking buddies, that she should probably clear everything up. Do some DTR, as Octavia would have said. (Really, she could recommend that to Raven for Wick. And Jasper for Maya.) (God.) (What was it with her squad and awkwardly complicated relationships?) (Octavia and Lincoln had only just sorted their shit out.) She set her shoulders back and down and stood up, making her painfully obvious walk over.

"Lexa," Clarke said. She looked up with something like reproach. "I think we should talk." She paused, glancing around the group of them, with their expectant looks and badass tattoos. "Alone." Lexa considered for a moment and nodded, rising to her side. Clarke had no idea where the hell she was going, but as her feet carried her away from the clump of tents, across the dappled evening light fallen on the leaves, she didn't mind. _This is a necessary precaution_, Clarke reminded herself. _I'm not going to let things get humiliating. I'm not._

"I just want to say that I'm not expecting anything…" she breathed in. _Well, this is awkward_. The thought of going back to campus tomorrow and living within five feet of each other briefly surfaced, but she panicked and squashed it away. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. "I know where you stand. And I'm still figuring some stuff out. Whatever happens, happens. But I'm not expecting…" She almost winced. _What am I saying?_

Lexa nodded. "Yes," Endless silence. "I know." She looked hesitant, and Clarke came ridiculously close to jumping her and kissing the worry away. (Now she knew what kissing Lexa was like, it suddenly, inconvieniently, illogically seemed any moment spent _not_ kissing Lexa was a colossal waste of time.) The shifting sunset, somewhere above the sparsely-leafed treetops was casting fantastical shadows across the two of them, the trees. "But... I do care, Clarke."

Everything inside her fell apart. "I know how hard that is for you,"

Once upon a time she'd thought there was nothing that felt better than falling asleep after a hard day. That that, along with apple pie, sex with Finn, and a cold drink on a hot day, was the best feeling in the world. She'd been right then, of course, when that was all she knew. Now, she knew, it was being cared about by someone who tried not to give a fuck about anyone. Somehow, she'd ended up drifting with Lexa's quiet walk. Clarke honestly had no idea where they were going; but Lexa had grown up here. She probably lived in these woods as a kid. The silence wrapped around the two of them tightly, but it wasn't suffocating. It was comforting. Easy. And then they'd broken out of the dense forest, and when Clarke looked up, she had a clear view of the mountain, rising slowly up above and behind, picturesque against a blaze of red sky.

"It's beautiful," Clarke stared out at the blazing sundown, like splashes of blood across blushing streaks of salmon, of spun sunbeams entangled in the stubborn final whispers of blue. (But so was Lexa.) It was like the clouds were at war. Clarke turned to her, and gave a small smile, with her whole heart, as honestly as she could manage.

And Clarke purposefully took hold of Lexa's hand, entwining her fingers through hers. Lexa stared down at their hands, and Clarke's eyes sought the truth in hers, reassuring her. They might not be in that relationship. But some things were necessary, even so. Some things were needed. She settled back against the outcrop of rock and watched the sun go down over the city she now called home, wondering how the hell all this had come about.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** I propose we start tagging everything with #clexaisendgame. The clexa revolution is now. Also, I can absolutely promise that the chapters start to get longer again after this one. Promise. The next chapter will make up for it, I swear.

**18.**

Clarke couldn't paint.

_Why the fuck am I even bothering with this course?_ Her wrist ached, her headphones were broken, her final project for Wallace's class was not going well - to put it lightly - and now she had watercolours all over her pillow. (And in her pillow, whose purple-stained case was hanging over the dormitory's radiator.) (She could only pray her spill would be dry by the time she wanted to go to sleep.) She scrutinized the paper, soaked and stained with paint. She'd decided to try a night-sky kind of thing, which was kind of Clarke's trademark - but she'd only ever used pencil before, or charcoal. I fucking hate watercolours. She groaned, crumpling up her latest attempt. Her mom would have told her she was being too picky, too much a perfectionist. Her mom didn't know shit about art.

At least she was just filling time. At least there was something to look foreward to; somebody (Octavia) had hijacked Bellamy's home (again) to arrange a movie night for the Ark crew. Clarke had no idea what they were supposed to be watching, or even who was going to be there (she swore to god Murphy better not show up again), but it was still something. And something was better than this futile, artists-block misery session.

The first drops of rain were speckling the window, although the sky was bright. Lexa was out somewhere. Clarke hadn't had a chance to talk to her properly since the trip - which was a good thing, she supposed. _And thank god I did some damage control before we got back._ And it was agonizingly, obviously awkward, but that wasn't all there was. It was also... She didn't know. There was something almost... Nice. Like they were co-existing in this little peace bubble.

Later, as Clarke made her too-early trek to Bellamy's place (before Lexa got in. Naturally.) she realized that peace bubble was what happened to Lincoln and Octavia before - well. She was shocked that she wasn't the first there, but that wasn't really what she was focusing on. Outside the doorway, the two of them were seemingly welded together at the mouth, Octavia's arms around his neck, and if Clarke had to be honest, she felt a little violated just looking at it. They were eminating those gross kissy noises. She could feel her face scrunching up. How were you supposed to get attention from something like that? Clarke was close to considering turning around and walking away. _Do I wait for them to finish?_

Lincoln apparantly sensed her prescence first with his crazy grounder powers (she was starting to convince herself those existed), pulling awkwardly back, although he was still entirely focused on Octavia, and she him. Entranced might have been the better word. It took Octavia a moment, apparantly, to work out why the face-sucking session had ended, stumbling awkwardly to nod a _hi_ to Clarke.

"Eugh, guys," Clarke tried to burn that image out of her mind. There were some things you really didn't need to witness. "I love you both, but seriously."

"Um, yeah," Octavia avoided her eye contact for the first time since ninth grade. "Sorry," Lincoln cleared his throat in a way that somehow pulled back most of his dignity. "Well - we should go in,"

"Yes," Clarke nodded, latching onto the escape and knocking a tune on Bellamy's door. Wick answered, in sweatpants and an oil-stained shirt Clarke was sure she'd seen on Raven's side of her and Octavia's dormitory. _When did all my friends become disgusting sex perverts?_ _College_. She let that slide, mostly because he was holding a can of that gross mango drink she could never resist.

"Hey," Lincoln nodded, as the three of them squeezed through the door.

"Hey, Bellamy's here," Octavia announced, too loudly, given the fact she was shouting that her brother was in his house. "Let's talk to Bellamy now!"

Clarke sighed, rolling her eyes and grabing a can of the mango stuff, flopping to claim an ancient sofa crammed into a corner of the living room that it really didn't fit in, pulling off her boots and jacket, dumping them behind the couch. Thankfully, the Octavia Blake-Lincoln Whatever Your Last Name Is Make Out Session wasn't actually the biggest event of the evening. No. That came when Jasper showed up, last to arrive, at the door beside a familiar-faced dark-haired girl who 'the plan' had evidently worked on.

Clarke almost felt bad for him; they were going to have a feild day with this. (Almost.) (He was the idiot dumb enough to bring her into the lions' den.)

"Guys - this is Maya," Jasper announced awkwardly, as if they hadn't all worked that out the minute she stepped over the threshold.

"Hi," Maya gave an awkward nod.

Octavia was grinning like a moron, Raven looked too amused for anyone's safety, and Monty was avoiding anybody's eye contact. So, out of the goodness of her heart, (and her own realization) Clarke breached the new ground and decided to save her. "I know you!" God, I'm an idiot. "You're in my Art History class." Maya smiled and nodded as if that should have bedn obvious. Jesus, throw me a bone here. "Jasper. I didn't realize it was that Maya."

"Yeah... Well, that's cool," Jasper allowed. Apparantly Clarke was not helping._ Why do I bother?_

"So, who wants to watch some movies?" Octavia shouted, to everyone's relief.

-0-

It was just coming up to midnight when Clarke turned the key in her dormitory lock, but Lexa was awake, reading on her bed by the soft yellow lamplight. Clarke gave a smile somewhat optimistically, and, praise god, Lexa returned the favour. "Hey," Clarke muttered, as she collapsed onto the end of her bed, tugging off her boots and kicking them away to rest in a haphazard heap. She could clear up in the morning; her eyes were kind of aching from the Hunger Games-athon.

"Good day?" Lexa asked, the sound of her books turning page amplified by the uncanny quiet beyond.

Those two little words shot straight into Clarke's chest. "Good enough. Yours?"

"Something like that." Lexa murmured. _What's even happening anymore?_ The university programme had explained a lot of necessary information; where all her classrooms were, and what to do in the event of a fire; how to find the laundry room and what the number of the pizza place was. But there was nothing in the world that explained what you were supposed to do and how you were supposed to proceed after kissing your sullen female roommate. Because that was the kind of thing that would literally only happen to Clarke.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm Jennifer Lawrence-ed out." She pulled her hair loose and grabbed her brush, realizing she never actually told Lexa about the movie night, and that that sentence would make absolutely no sense to her. She shook it off. "Hunger Games marathon."

"Right." Lexa closed her book. "Those books have such political resonance, I love them."

Clarke felt a grin inching onto her face. That may have been the first time she'd ever heard Lexa say she loved something. "Plus, J-Law is magnificent." Another thing that had been drawn into sharp clarity since the camping trip; Clarke was constantly saying how hot various actresses were. She wondered if anybody else had noticed.

"So magnificent," Lexa agreed. Clarke had suddenly found herself unable to stop smiling, even as she hurried down the hall for a quick shower, tugging on her pyjamas with a little less self-consciousness than usual. _Dork_. But she was getting used to all aspects of college life now - the public indecency and bisexual awkakening and all.

"So," She started, closing the dormitory door behind her on her return, retrieving her pillowcase from the radiator and going sitting cross-legged on her paint-speckled duvet. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Probably grossly over-processed cafeteria turkey," Lexa guessed.

Clarke's smile wavered an octave. "You're not going home for Thanksgiving?" Thanksgiving, although it seemed a little pointless to Clarke, had always been a relatively big thing in the Griffin household. A few days of peace were always unspokenly brokered between her and her mother over the holidays. And while neither were any great chef, it was one of the few days of the year that they managed to muster up a decent meal. Usually.

Lexa shook her head, unweaving one of the braids wound through her hair. "My father and I aren't really close. I have a lot of studying to do."

"But that's not right." Clarke's mouth rushed ahead before her mind could even begin to comprehend what she was saying, as usual. "Nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving."

"I won't be alone," Lexa protested. "Lots of people stay."

"Well," Clarke decided, the very second she heard it leaving her lips. "You're not."

"You're telling me what to do now?" Lexa raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Clarke nodded, adamant. And then, softer, "You're coming home with me."

"Do I get a choice?" Lexa could act as uninvolved as she wanted, but Clarke didn't buy that anymore. And the shadow of a smile crossing her face told a different story.

"Nope." Clarke shoved her pillow back in it's case and rolled over.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Have we really gone and done nineteen chapters already? I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life once this is over. (Hint: write more clexa.) As always, lots of thanks to everyone reading! You're the best. As you can see, we're back to normal sized chapters! Hooray!

**19.**

"I'm really sorry, Lexa, I probably should have cleared all this up before -"

"It's fine -"

"No," Clarke shook her head, wondering why she felt so bad, and when the frenzied flutter of a thousand butterflies in her stomach was going to stop. They weren't even butterflies; butterflies were small, delicate. These were falcons, eagles, wings whipping her blood into a storm racing through her. "I invited you to come stay with me for Thanksgiving, you shouldn't have to pay -"

"Clarke," Lexa did that thing with her eyes that practically forced Clarke to drop everything and stare into them like she was in some shitty romantic comedy. Which was hardly fair. "It's fine."

"Okay," Clarke muttered reluctantly, still not entirely happy, watching Lexa open her leather wallet and slide a twenty under the plastic at the ticket guy, who looked thouroughly unamused with their apologetic fussing. Usually she would have hitched a ride home with Bellamy and Octavia, but she was really not ready to drag Lexa into that wormhole quite yet. It wasn't her fault that she was the only nineteen year old in America without a drivers liscence, let alone a car. (Okay.) (That was kind of her fault.) But still. You didn't invite someone to stay with you and not mention that they had to pay for a train fare till the day you left._ Not unless you're me. _

The guy handed over Lexa's ticket and change and the two of them had to run to catch the next train, which was absurd and exhilerating enough for most of Clarke's train-fare-guilt to blow away with the wind. She was trying not to laugh as she collapsed into her seat, opposite Lexa. "And I'm also sorry for that," She panted.

"A little exercise never hurt anybody," Lexa almost-smiled, slinging her bag off of her shoulder and onto the seat next to her, as the train eased away from the platform, concrete and brick giving way to sparse woodland. _Given that we met in a gym_, Clarke thought to herself,_ it's almost appropriate._

"Right," Clarke hefted her backpack onto the other seat; it was Thanksgiving weekend, the train was crammed and she was not in the mood to deal with idiots and personal-space-invaders. "Lunch, anyone?" She quirked an eyebrow, a sense of smug satisfaction settling over her like dust. This was _fucking smooth_, if she did think so herself. She dug around in the bags front pocket, fingers closing on the crumpling plastic. Lexa hadn't actually said she was hungry, but it was past midday now, and it'd be another few hours until they reached Ark. Clarke had to physically restrain her smirk as she retrieved her hastily-bought supplies; the cafeteria wraps, the pair of apples, the cans of sparkling mango (well, she couldn't stop herself now) and the _piece de resistance_. The angel cake, with the stripy icing.

She handed over Lexa's half of her train provisions, helpfully ignoring the fact she probably had her own lunch with her. She accepted. "Thank you,"

Clarke wondered how her first-week self would have reacted if she'd been told about this situation, and smiled at that. Watching the greenery blur past the repulsive train-window, with Lexa sitting across from her, Clarke's mind was suddenly infused with the weirdest, most random memory. "I remember my dream," She realized, mostly to herself.

"You dream?" Lexa asked, shrugging out of her (still literally awesome) coat and folding it on top of her bag.

"Yeah, my hangover dream..." Clarke glanced back at Lexa. "There was a spaceship, but it was on the ground, and you were there. And Octavia had this Legolas hairstyle -"

Lexa had an amused look on her face. "Yeah?"

"Shut up. Your makeup was kind of exaggerated, and we were in this forest, right, like where we went camping, but only there was an army. And we were at the head of it." She frowned. "I think we might have been going to war."

"War," Lexa smiled and Clarke's heart fell apart. "Sounds intetesting."

"Oh, it was." Clarke grinned, popping the tab of her mango drink. "It was."

"I once had a dream Anya was teaching me how to swordfight." Lexa offered, and Clarke snorted, because the image came crisp and clear to her much too easily.

"Maybe she was preparing you for the war," Clarke shot. Lexa was removing the packaging from her half of the angel cake, and she couldn't help herself. "You know that stuff's killing you, right?"

-0-

Ten minutes to Ark.

That was all that was left. It felt like forever since Clarke had seen her mom (without the use of Skype). Abby had driven down for Parents' Weekend, but since then they'd been happy to talk through the magic of the internet. Beyond the grimy glass window, the sky had faded to grey, although somehow they'd shaken off the rain a few stops back. Clarke had sent her mom a text the morning after she'd come up with the idea, asking if her roommate could stay for Thanksgiving, and the brief reply had merely said, _Sure. The more the merrier_. There was a possibility she was being sarcastic; but mostly Clarke thought she was just trying to make up for the weird distance between them.

She had no idea how Abby would respond to Lexa. Smart, quiet Lexa whose prescence kind of commanded attention. Lexa with the crazy eye makeup and terrifying boots, who was almost as opinionated as Clarke, only she had a working knowledge of politics behind her. Then the speaker declared, _next stop Ark_, and the two of them were gathering their bags.

_Well. This is going to be fun._

Clarke hopped onto the familiar platform, to the smell of rain and her hometown, glancing over at Lexa, the braids running through her hair stirring in the still-damp breeze, bag slung over her shoulder. _Thank god we aren't in an official relationship_, Clarke thought optimistically. _That would make this so much more awkward._ "So, my mom should be waiting for us in the car park,"

"Lead the way," Lexa, who was trying not to look like she was interestedly absorbing her new surroundings, nodded and Clarke felt the falcons in the pit of her stomachs battling once again.

She felt a smile on her lips as she made her way through the station anyway. She hadn't realized that she missed home until she went back. She stood for a few seconds scanning the cars for the ancient Griffin Honda, her mom waving at them behind the glass. Clarke turned to Lexa before going over, iridescent against the ashy cloud. "It's going to be fine," she told her, and Lexa nodded. So she fixed the grimly determined smile reserved for Dr Abigail Griffin in place, and wound their way through the parked cars, all glinting with old rain. She opened the door, climbing into the front seat and dumping her backpack in the space by her feet, leaning in for the obligatory hug across the gearstick. "Hi!"

"Hey," Her mom squeezed back for a moment, untangling herself with an equally set smile. "Have you grown again? I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," Clarke replied, which was true, even if she hadn't realized it until just now. "And I haven't grown since ninth grade." She grinned, glancing into the back seat, where Lexa was trying to work out their retarded seatbelts. "Mom - this is Lexa." She paused. _My most confusing connection. My best mistake. My friend._ "My roommate."

Abby turned around in her seat and Clarke watched more intensely than she'd watched anything since Lost finished. "Hi, Lexa," She could see the absorption of Lexa's coat sinking in, and her demeanour. "It's good to finally meet you."

"You too," Lexa said, which was obviously a fucking lie.

"Oh, and I've asked Marcus round for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow," Abby told her, adjusting the gears and pulling out of her parking spot. "He's going through a rough time. And I got in too much turkey anyway."

"Cool," _Subtle, Mom. Really subtle._ Clarke turned back to look at Lexa, who was staring out the window. "Kane's one of the governers at Mom's hospital," She explained. _And I'm pretty sure they're dating._ Clarke was slightly concerned that Lexa was slipping back into her withdrawn first impression. She wasn't worried about she and her mom talking too much and alienating her; there'd be the initial ten-minute catch up, and then nothing. But she knew Abby would be on her best behaviour with a new addition to the house.

"It's hardly _my_ hospital," Abby shrugged. "Though I don't see why not, the time they keep me there. I only just managed to get Thanksgiving off." Clarke gazed out at the achingly familiar streets and wished she'd sat in the back with Lexa. "So how've you been, how's things?"

"Things are good," Clarke told her. "Classes are kind of crazy at the minute, since the fall semester's nearly over. I've got this art thing I just can't get right."

"You'll manage it," Abby promised. "You always do."

The car pulled into her street, which was, admittedly, in the nicer part of town. Clarke tried to detatch from herself and see the house from an outsiders' perspective, which was actually impossible. As her mom parked in their spot, she was overcome with the strangest kind of nostalgia. She climbed out, grabbing her bag, and, before she realized what she was doing, going to open the car door for Lexa. Abby raised an eyebrow at that but she didn't say anything, so Clarke ignored her. "Welcome home," she murmured to herself, following her mom through the front garden and up the steps to the door she'd left behind her months.

"Do you want me to make you something to eat?" Abby asked tossing her keys into the key-bowl-thing that lived in the porch.

"We can have something later, we ate on the train," Clarke glanced longingly at the stairs. _Well. This isn't awkward at all_. "I think Lexa and I are just going to go up to my room. Ground a little."

"Okay," Abby tossed her work bag, still stuffed with this mornings' scrubs, onto the couch.

Clarke couldn't run upstairs fast enough. She held her familiar door open for Lexa, and for the first time wondered if she should be worrying about the state of her bedroom. No; Lexa lived with her. She was being stupid. Her childhood bedroom wasn't much smaller than their dormitory, and she'd tried just as hard with it. The sheets on her double bed hadn't been touched since she left; nothing had. It was almost eerie, and the nostalgia was striking her in the face. Her chalkboard wall was fading a little, the corners of the photos pinned to the enormous collage corkboard above her bed were curling. She dumped her bag on top of her drawers, going over and throwing herself into the thick blankets she hadn't slept under for months. Then she realized she was acting like a special eight year old, so she sat up and gave an apologetic smile. "Well," Clarke swung her legs over the edge of her bed, pulling off her boots. "Welcome home,"

"Your mom seems nice," Lexa observed, sitting at Clarke's desk chair, eyes roaming over the multitude of photographs that took up one wall.

Clarke snorted. "At least she's trying."

There was the slightest undeniable awkwardness, and they both knew it. They'd kissed. And now they were in Clarke's bedroom. On her bed. Where she grew up. Then Lexa's eyes found her ceiling and Clarke saw the shift in her face, the slightest smile filling her up. "That's incredible,"

Absurdly proud, Clarke felt a certain warmth tingling in her fingertips at that. "I have a thing about being boxed in," she generalized, painfully desperate to seem modest, and not like the modesty was an attention-grabbing tactic.

Lexa turned to her. "You did that all yourself?"

Clarke nodded. She'd painted her cieling when she was fourteen. Her mom had been representing the hospital in the next town over, so she was away the weekend. She didn't quite remember when the ametuer astronomy started, but she'd been fascinated by space for as long as she could remember. (There was something about the thought of a reliable infinity. And however beautiful the universe looked to earth, earth looked as stunning to it.) The idea struck her suddenly, and then she'd pushed all her furniture out onto the landing, walked to the Home Depo down the road for some large sheets of plastic, duct taped them to her walls and floor, and she'd painted for two days straight, sleeping on the sofa. The smell was dissipitating, it was dry, and Clarke had just finished putting all her things back when Abby back from her conference.

She came in to see Clarke sitting on her bed watching TV, glanced at the cieling and blew a gasket. But what could she do? Eventually she told her it was a beautiful depiction of the greater universe. The look in Lexa's eyes took her straight back to her original, overpowering, fourteen-year-old pride. "Thanks."

"Anya said you were one of the best Astronomy students, and I knew you were an artist but -" Lexa bit off whatever else she was about to say. _Anya said I'm one of the best._ She must have sensed the awkward hang of Clarke's happiness then, because she waited a moment before swiftly diverting the flow of conversation. "Is this you?"

Clarke moved over to stand by her desk, where Lexa was sitting, looking with genuine interest over her out-of-control, over-the-top corkboard photo-collage. She was staring at this slightly-grainy photograph of a small, embarassing blonde-braided toddler's face in the light of birthday cake candles, chubby cheeks puffed up as she was about to blow them out. She wouldn't have put that up at all if not for the hand about to wipe her mouth with a tissue in the edge of the picture. "Yeah,"

"And this one," Lexa was smiling now, and Clarke thought that if she was a normal human being she was about to comment on how awful and adorably baby Clarke was. She was a little older in this one, about six, in the most humiliating dungarees and rainbow t-shirt, in front of the monkey enclousure at the zoo, hand held in the tall, smiling man's. "Is this your dad?"

She nodded. "Yep," Clarke glanced down at her watch. Dust had gotten into the cracks in its face. She never talked about her dad. Not to anyone. She hadn't ever talked to Finn about her dad. "That's one of the last pictures we took of him." Lexa didn't say anything. Clarke filled her lungs carefully. "He died when I was a kid. There was a car crash. It was nobody's fault, really. My mom operated on him. And he died on the table." Her words hung in the dusty silence between them for a moment, like soap bubbles, drifting to the floor rather than popping.

"I'm sorry," Lexa's eyes turned from the pictures to the woman who used to be the person in them.

Clarke shook her head. "No, it's okay. Sounds awful, but I don't even remember him that much. Just little things."

"That's the way of life," Lexa muttered, glancing over all the photos again. "Tell me about them."

"What?" Clarke followed her gaze. The pictures were of everything and everyone and every day that had meant something, and some that hadn't, but still looked nice up there.

"These pictures... That's your whole life, on that wall." Her eyes met hers again, and Clarke realized that Lexa's trouble accepting emotions was what made it a hundred percent more touching when she voiced them. "I want to hear it."

-0-

"... And that's after we found Octavia again on our ditch day. She got lost in the butterfly farm, you can see it in the background," Clarke was kneeling amongst the pillows, on her bed, pointing out all the photographs. Lexa was sitting cross-legged, watching, and Clarke had never felt so peaceful. Recalling all her best memories, with Lexa, who she couldn't even begin to describe her relationship with, was cathartic and calming and life-affirming and as she talked about her everything, her favourite colour was slowly becoming the hue of Lexa's eyes. "And this one's me and Wells at our sixth-grade graduation. Yeah, they made that a thing at my school. We had to make those hats out of cardboard. This was just before he moved, but it was still one of the best days. Oh my god, I forgot about this - this is Marcus and my mom with the cake someone made for the hospitals' anniversary. I felt so sick after that." She paused, scanning over the corkboard. She had a bunch of recent photos on her phone she was going to print off this weekend; Octavia and Lincoln striking silly poses in their Halloween costumes, a game night group shot, the awkwardly posed picture her mom made her take when they drove into campus for the first time. She knew before she said it. "You should be up here."

She turned to return Lexa's staring at her. She looked genuienly taken aback. "I don't -"

Clarke put her hand over Lexa's and her skin came alive. "You're a part of my life." She nodded, then grinned, hopping off the bed to grab her phone and jumping back onto her blankets to lie beside Lexa against her pillows, holding the phone up and tapping the little camera icon.

"Clarke," Lexa protested, but she could tell she was amused really.

"We're taking a selfie," She told her, switching to the front lens and fixing her grin forewards. Lexa half-smiled, and that was good enough, so Clarke captured the image, snapping a few more and she was just sitting up to look at them when her door opened.

Clarke watched her mom glance between the two of them, lying on the bed, beside each other. "I'm about to put in a frozen lasagna," she informed them. "You want some?"

Clarke exchanged a look with Lexa and locked her phone, putting it back on her desk. "Sure,"

-0-

Somehow, after the worlds' most awkward dinner, they'd gotten onto the subject of sleeping arrangements. "There's spare blankets in the airing closet if you need them," Abby had said, obligatorily.

"That's fine, I've brought my own," Lexa replied. "I can set up the sofa myself,"

Abby frowned at that. "Clarke,"_ How the hell did I manage to do something wrong without even speaking?_ "You have a double bed," The implications of that sentence settled in and Clarke could feel her cheeks blazing.

"No, it's fine -" Lexa rushed.

"Don't be stupid, Clarke can be accomodating," Abby insisted. "Can't she?"

And that was how Clarke ended up in bed with her gorgeous, perplexing, illogical grounder roommate (slash one time make out buddy).

In the cool darkness of the autumn night, she stared up at her starry cieling, listening to the familiar symphony of Lexa's breathing a few inches away, amplified by closeness and quiet, under her old childhood duvet, cursing her mother to the ground and wondering how she was ever going to get to sleep. She could feel the warmth radiating from Lexa's body, feel the ends of Lexa's hair against her skin. It really shouldn't be so damn hot right now.

Clarke swallowed, and for the millionth time, tried to control the damage."I'm really sorry."


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** So that last chapter was basically a big ball of fluff. But I think after what the show has done to us, it's kinda necessary. In other news I've been scouring producer/writer interviews and I'm absolutely convinced there's no way clexa won't carry on. Slight kabby in this chapter, but who doesn't love kabby? Also, sorry I didn't get this up earlier, me and my girlfriend did the nineteen-hour Harry Potter marathon and became the walking dead. #thisgotwayfluffierthanintented #Clarkehasgame #ignoringthefacthenryianwasinlost

**20.**

Clarke groaned contentedly as her eyelids flickered open, dropped shut, stirring under the heavy, soft snuggly-ness of her bed. Somewhere into the night, the covers had drooped to around her waist, which was odd, considering winter was approaching rapidly. She felt herself stretching out in a yawn, and as she slowly opened up to consciousness she realized that the comforting, warm thing she had been thoughtlessly squishing for the past nine hours was actually Lexa.

_Oh my god_. All her blood shot her head._ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ She was such an idiot. Why was this something she hadn't considered? She was a cuddly sleeper. There was no doubt about it. Finn always teased her about that. God. Now - how to disentangle herself from Lexa without disturbing her or scarring her for life? Lexa was curled up in a kind of ball on her side. Somehow, Clarke had managed to get one arm around her waist and the other under her shoulder. She leaned back against her pillows a little, removing the last of Lexa's hair from her mouth. Even if life did come with a guidebook, Clarke was pretty sure this wouldn't be in it. Because this was the kind of thing that literally only happened to her.

(It didn't help that she kind of wanted to hug her tighter, pretend to go back to sleep and stay like that forever.) (_God. I'm such a fucking pervert_.) Then Lexa shifted slightly and Clarke knew she'd woken up when Clarke started moving.

She faceplanted the pillow, withdrawing the arm that was thrown over Lexa's waist. One was still trapped under her shoulderblade. Lexa made some kind of indistinguishable waking-up noise. Clarke reached her one free arm out to grab her phone and check the time. Nearly eleven. "Morning," Lexa murmured sleepily.

"Hi," Clarke almost laughed, how ridiculous the situation was. She'd accidently been groping her all night. Her face felt overhot, prickly. What did she say? "Fuck. I'm really sorry, Lexa," I didn't mean to sleep-assault you. Some people talked in their sleep. Some people walked. She molested people.

"Don't mention it," Lexa moved over, so Clarke could get back her arm, which was filled with pins and needles.

"Well," Clarke yawned, still cringing. "Happy Thanksgiving." If this didn't set the tone for her life she didn't know what did.

-0-

Clarke wasn't sure if there was a lunch-dinner equivalent of brunch, but that was what Abby had decided their Thanksgiving dinner would be. Kane arrived at three thirty, and Clarke gave him a hug. Ever since his mother died, he'd adopted all her pot plants he used to take the piss out of, and, apparantly, stopped shaving. He was kind of her unofficial uncle. (Although she was sure at some point that was going to become stepdad.) (It seemed like he and her mom were the only ones who hadn't realized.) (But _seriously_.)

"Hey," Clarke tried not to do the steroetypical fake-sympathetic head-tilt smile thing that made her want to hit people after her father died, drifting back towards the living room. "You okay?"

"I'm ok." Kane nodded. "I can't believe you're in college already. I can still remember when you were six and talking to everyone in the waiting rooms at the hospital."

"Yeah," Clarke was not in the mood for sentimentality. "Let's not talk about that. Mom's in the kitchen. We've got the parade on." Lexa was sitting on their sofa, frowning at the parade, no doubt considering the political connotations. "This is Lexa. She's a friend from my college."

Lexa glanced up and Kane shook her hand (Clarke had no idea), as Abby hurried in from the kitchen, wearing a ratty apron that literally only saw the light of day on Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was always fucking weird to Clarke, seeing her mom look so much like a normal, non workaholic, domestic mother. "Hey, Marcus, Happy Thanksgiving!" She hugged him, and Clarke wondered how blind they could actually be.

She dropped down onto the couch beside Lexa. "No, they haven't realized."

Lexa observed as Kane and Abby disappeared into the kitchen. "They never do."

Thanksgiving was... Sweet. (Or it would have been if Clarke could look at Lexa without thinking about how she woke her up.) And when the four of them sat down at the table, weighted down with plates piled high, in the weirdest way, Clarke almost felt like she had a proper family. A mother who meant well, despite the outcome of most of their interactions. A family friend who was becoming a really nice guy, and possibly something more, which God knew would do her mother a whole lot of good. And a Lexa.

Clarke caught her eye, in the chair beside her around the dinner table that was literally only ever used once in a blue moon, and smiled. Then she mentally challenged herself to see how many roast potatoes she could eat, and heaped her plate in way that could have gotten her on one of those disgusting food challenge programmes. "This smells so good."

"I'll take that compliment and I'll give it to Wal-Mart's frozen range." Abby grinned, cracking the bottle of wine that somebody (Marcus) had provided (_honestly, how are they not getting it?_), pouring herself a glass.

"Well, my other option was celebrating Thanksgiving with the plants and a microwave ready meal." Kane smiled gratefully as Abby filled his glass. "So I'm going to say thank you."

"Yes," Lexa added, and Clarke wouldn't have believed it if she wasn't sitting right next to her. Or maybe she would have. Clarke was beginning to believe in lots of things. "I could be studying on campus right now."

A few months ago, Clarke would have thought Lexa meant that as the good thing. Now she felt a unique kind of affection well up for her roommate. She was proud, in a way, of how far she'd come. "I'll raise a glass to that," (Her glass contained a diet Coke, of course.) (Even if Abby hadn't been insistant she was still a kid and blah blah blah, Clarke wasn't sure she was ready to face alcohol again yet.) (It worked out _so well_ for her the last time.) Clarke lifted her glass above the steaming roast. "Happy Thanksgiving,"

The other three joined her, glass rims clinking in the pre-evening light. "Happy Thanksgiving," Abby agreed, and then, with a (_damn obvious_) glance at Marcus, "To old friends,"

Kane smiled and nodded. Clarke couldn't stop the spread of her smile if she wanted to; she was so content, for once. So essentially worry-free. She was happy for her mom, and for Marcus too; if Abby was happier, she'd back off Clarke a little. And with his mom dying and everything, she could see hers was good for him. And then there was Lexa beside her, and she was beautiful, and Clarke could see her slowly opening up to emotion, like a flower in the spring. Like magic. "And to new ones."

Turkey had never tasted so good.

-0-

The evening air was crisp, smelling of night and tasting of earth, fresh against her skin. Against the grey-striped sky, the first stars were glimmering. Clarke wondered if they still existed, or if she was witnessing the burning of long-dead stars whose light had barely reached their little paradox planet yet. Even the weed-filled cracks in the pavement were familiar beneath her. "Where are we going?" Lexa's voice filled her ears as she caught up. (Clarke had been standing on a wall a few feet ahead, breathing in the feel of the only hometown she ever knew like a retard.)

Clarke hopped down from her vantage point, shoving her freezing hands in her hoodie pockets. "You'll see."

She'd suggested showing Lexa around the place for a while partly because she felt like she owed it to her mom to let her have some alone time with Kane, but mostly because she actually wanted to. Lexa raised an eyebrow. "This is how horror stories start."

Clarke snorted, rounding the corner that housed the old oak Octavia fell out of once and broke her arm. "I can tell you now I have very little interest in killing, kidnapping or dismembering you."

Lexa looked partly reassured. "Just what everyone wants to hear,"

"Well," Clarke nudged her shoulder with her own. The sky was stubbornly stuck in that pre-night glow, a luminious shade of the abscence of blue. A chalky rind of moon was coming into view. "I kind of already have kidnapped you."

"It doesn't count when the victim goes willingly," Lexa reassured her.

"Only for the bribe of Thanksgiving dinner." Clarke started up the sharp descent of the upward-sloping alleyway she'd been up so many times she could practically feel it. Skipped up behind her father, chattered on at Wells, shoved Raven back and forth.

Lexa's eyes flickered sideways to find hers in the onward fade of the night. "It wasn't just for the dinner." Clarke's heart smiled and she nodded, existing in that sentence for a while, before Lexa diffused the connotations. "But the dinner was pretty good."

"Wasn't it?" Clarke exclaimed. Then the alley broke out onto her sacred ground, and she led Lexa across her holy ground. The empty little playground sat lonely in the feild, the crown of the hill. "Hey. Come on,"

She hurried over to the freezing metal of the climbing-platform-slide thing she'd grown up on, gripping the chilled, paint-flecked bars of the ladder, making her way up onto the square of metal that meant a stupid amount to her. She turned out to stare at the view she'd always taken to be a promise, a taste of a great big world, lit up by a hundred homes, the yellow lights of car headlights like a snake along the far-off highway. She glanced back; Lexa was a little behind her, looking confused and amused and like hope. "I haven't been on one of these since I was six." She told her, but she humoured her and climbed up after her, like Clarke knew she would.

"This is like, my whole childhood." Clarke told her, nodding out at the view of Ark, laid out in lights and life before them. The breath that drove her words misted in the cooling air for a moment. It was probably the coldest Thanksgiving she could remember, but she felt warm.

"It's beautiful," Lexa told her, like Clarke had told her her town was. _Who'd have thought, huh?_ She'd sat here, legs dangling out over the slide and the air beside the father she barely recalled. Beside Wells, the best ally of her childhood, who she only ever saw through Skype now. With Raven and Octavia and Jasper and Monty, as they turned into teenagers and then these awesome young people under the same sky. And now Lexa, whose eyes were shining fiercely with the reflected light of the stars and the glowing urban view.

"Yeah," She agreed. And her hand inched across the chilled painted metal to find the pulse in Lexa's fingertips, and then her cold hand was holding her cold hand, and Clarke was thinking about how strange the speed and random force of life was, and how this was the best Thanksgiving ever, and how beneath the freezing skin, she could feel the warmth of Lexa's blood. The cars were rushing about in the distance, being swallowed up by the horizon. She stayed like that for a long time, before she turned her face to Lexa's, and told her, honestly, "I'm really glad you're here."

Lexa swallowed, blinked, and at last allowed that soft smile that Clarke would never have matched to her if she hadn't ever taken the time to find out who she really was. "Me too."

She smiled. But she knew how Lexa felt about certain things. She didn't want to get in too deep and mess up her Thanksgiving.

"But I think there's a better light show up there," Clarke leaned back on her elbows, nodding up at the great infine tapestry of the night, expanding above and around them. "Because half of it... We can't even fathom. There's all this unimaginable invisible light, everywhere, right now. And we can't see it, or most of the stars that are burning above us right now. Those stars we can see... Some of them don't even exist anymore. Some of them existed back when Shakespeare was staring up there." Clarke stared across at Lexa, who was leaning on her hands and watching her. "See that group that looks kind of like a soup ladle?" She pointed.

"Yes," Lexa nodded, face turned up to the starlight.

"Now look there. That one, that's the Big Dipper." Clarke told her, moving her arm to the right position. "And that's Orion, the hunter." That weirdly happy serenity settled over her again.

_Okay. Maybe I have more game than I thought._

-0-

She had no idea what time it was when she and Lexa made their way through her front door, into the wave of central heating that started to thaw her skin, that had been tingling so much that she didn't even realize how fucking frozen it was. But it was dark, Kane was gone, and her mom was sitting on the sofa, flipping through channels on the TV.

"Hi," She called.

Abby glanced up. "Hey," Then her gaze turned back on the screen. "I shouldn't worry about you so much. You're a proper person now."

_Okay. I was not expecting that._ But to hear her mother say that, her desperately superior, protective, struggling mother say that, was touching. (And awkward.) "Thank you."

"Well," Abby changed the channel. "I'm going to turn in soon, so you girls keep it down, okay?"

Clarke smiled. "Okay." She motioned for Lexa to follow her, wondering what lifted the shadow from her mother's eyes as she climbed the stairs, unzipping her jacket, and shaking off the too-deep sensation, going back to the conversation she and Lexa had been engaged in before they got in. "I still can't believe you've never watched Lost."

Lexa shrugged. "It just never came up."

"I'm putting it on in a minute. Give me a second." She revisited her box set every six months anyway, pretty much. She put her pyjamas on in the bathroom before. It might have been stupid, considering they lived together - but they still hadn't ever undressed in the same room before (when they were both awake). It had just never happened to occur. And she didn't want to make things weird. (Unless - did changing in the bathroom insinuate something and make things weird itself?) (_Ugh._) (Clarke had no idea how to handle whatever the hell this relationship was.)

She returned to her bedroom, dug out her DVDs and flipped on her TV, throwing herself back onto her bed. She'd taken some dumb cell-phone pictures of Lexa on the walk back, more memories for her wall. Somehow, the most perfect days always found their way up there. Lexa climbed onto the bed beside her as the openeing credits started up. Lexa didn't say a word until a few minutes in, eyes carefully trained on the jungle shots and airplane wreckage. "Wow. Who's she?"

Clarke grinned. "That's Evangeline Lilly," she sighed. "We _love_ her."

"Yeah," Lexa agreed. _Jesus Christ_, Clarke thought to herself. _I'm so fucking queer_. She still had no idea how she'd never realized that before.

So Lost played on into the night, and somehow, as fatigue crept in, and carelessness with it, Clarke found herself with an arm around Lexa, and Lexa's head was on her shoulder, and the moment was setting up permenant residence in her. And just for the night, she didn't care whether she woke up tangled in her arms.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** These last few chapters have made themselves a hell of a lot fluffier than I intended. But still. If anyone needs fluff right now it's the clexa fandom. I am on a crusade to fill the world with clexa fluff. Also, as you probably have noticed, I've slowed down my updates, simply because I've finished writing this now and I need to drag it out. #ravenknowswhatsup

**21.**

"Have you got everything you need?" Abby was asking, from her seat on the footrest-thing across the coffee table.

Clarke finished her cereal, pushing her empty bowl away. "I think so," She nodded. "But I'll let you know if I forget anything and you can just send up whatever." Thank god she'd woken up early enough to disentangle herself from Lexa, and take a walk to get her pictures printed. Lexa was in the shower now.

"Thanks for your faith in me," Her mom muttered. Then she leaned foreward across the coffee table and adopted that facial expression that made Clarke want to tear off her hand just for something to throw at her. She sighed and wondered what she'd done now. "I've barely seen you. You've hardly told me anything about college."

"Because you know it all." Clarke's phone buzzed a text through, vibrating on the table and half of her wanted to reach out and start texting as an act of normal teenageritis rebellion. But that wasn't really in keeping with her whole I'm-at-college-I'm-a-responsible-almost-adult appeal. She sighed. _I knew it, I this was going to happen at some point_. "I Skype you at least once a week, we text, we phone. And you're the one who said the more the merrier, if it meant that much to you, you could have told me to save Lexa for another time." _What happened to me being a proper person?_

"Lexa," Abby sighed. Lexa was currently using their shower. Clarke should have known she was going to start in on her the minute she was out the door. "Lexa seems interesting."

"Hey," Clarke frowned. _For fucks sake_. "She's trying!"

"You live with her the whole year through and even that's not enough?" To her credit, her mother didn't look angry, persay. Just confused, and tired. "Sorry. I just think it's a little strange that you see this girl every day, and she picked staying with us for Thanksgiving over her family."

"You see Kane just as much and he was welcomed with wide arms," Clarke muttered, purposefully focusing on the breakfast show that nobody was watching.

"He just lost his mother," Abby softened as much as her mom was physically able to soften. She sighed. "Look, Clarke. I'm sure Lexa's great, once you get to know her. But I'm just saying, don't loose sight of other things."

"What are you even talking about?" Clarke grabbed her phone, and her empty cereal bow, standing up.

"Whatever's going on with you two -"

Clarke froze. "Nothing's going on." She had no idea why she said that, and it became evident the moment it left her lips. She kind of wanted to go upstairs, drag Lexa down and start making out with her just to prove a point. _Where did that come from? Whatever_. She was an independant freethinking person who made her own decisions. "What would be going on?"

"I just meant -"

"I'm going to go see if Lexa wants any toast." She gave her mom her best _only-I-know-what's-best-for-me_ face, walked through the kitchen to dump her bowl in the sink and hurried up the stairs. Lexa was still in the shower. Clarke collapsed on her bed, beside her bag, stuffed with her essentials and a few t-shirts she'd missed, unlocking her phone and opening up her new message. Octavia._ Bell hasn't got the van fitted out in the back yet but you're good w danger and law breaking right?_

_Pretty much_, Clarke replied, locking her phone and shoving it in her pocket. She reached out to grab the stack of snapshots sitting on her desk. She'd gone out before Lexa had woken up to get them done. She faintly recognized the cashier guy. That was something she used to think was nice about Ark; the constant familiarity. After living in a huge college town for a few months, it was weird. She was used to not knowing who the fuck anyone beyond her immediate social circle was. Finding the ball of blu-tack that lived on her desk, she got to work.

The bad-quality shot of Octavia and Lincoln (sorry, Pocahontas and black Mozart) pulling stupid poses out front of the frat house on Halloween went up between her eleventh birthday party and the squad decked out in their senior prom finery. The game night montage she tried to spread out a bit; Raven in Jasper's goggles, Monty balancing a can of that mango drink on his head. And eventually she got to the most recent ones; the selfies she took with Lexa wiped her mind of everything awkward regarding her mother and put a smile on her face. _Lexa really doesn't realize how cute she is._

"Hey,"

Clarke turned around. Lexa was towelling her hair dry, and Clarke was immediately, agonizingly aware of the undone belt hanging loosely from her standard black skinny jeans. She smiled, pressing up the last photo, and about to warn Lexa about their ride back to college, when her gaze snagged on her window. "Oh my god."

"What?" Lexa asked, going over to shove her shampoo bottle in her bag. (Clarke said she could have used her shampoo. But whatever. She assumed grounder hair required special treatment or something.)

"I think it's snowing." Frowning, she bounded over the other side of her bed. Beyond the misty glass, bone-coloured flecks were drifting sluggishly to melt into the ground. "Holy shit."

"You don't get much here?" Lexa sat down on the end of the bed, struggling to tug her comb through her hair.

"Not on Thanksgiving, this is ridiculous." It clearly wasn't going to lay, but still. _Still_. "Oh, and you know how I said Bellamy could probably give us a lift if he got the van fixed in time?"

"Yes,"

"Well, it's done." Clarke turned away from the window, instead surveying the new additions to her wall. "Except the back isn't fitted yet, so there's a slight chance we could get arrested or die. And, um, Raven and the guys are going to squeeze in as well. But we can always get the train if you'd prefer..."

She watched anxiously, and she could see the slightest shift in Lexa's demeanour. When Octavia had text to say Bellamy had finally cashed in that lump-of-rust car Raven was always ripping apart for this mysterious second-hand van, and that there was room enough for the whole crew, her first thought was that it was a godsend. She was poor, trains were expensive. But then she thought of Lexa. And while Octavia had briefly _okay_-ed bringing her along, Clarke wasn't really... She didn't know. Hours of driving, shut up in the back of a van with _Octavia_ and _Jasper_ and _Monty_ plus Lexa. It wasn't that her friends were stupid humiliating dorks (which they kind of were) or that it had the potential to be as awkward as when Jasper dragged Maya to movie night (which it did) but she was more concerned about Lexa. Lexa was awesome, but she did have a tendancy to shut down and wall up around new people. Clarke didn't want that. She didn't want her worrying.

"We can go with Bellamy," Lexa allowed, voice painfully flat as anticipated. At least she was making an effort. "It's the convenient thing to do."

"Yeah, but we don't have to do what's convenient." Clarke dropped down to sit beside her, bedsprings bouncing. _Hell if I've done anything convenient at all lately_. "We should do what we want." Like this, for example. Inviting her Lexa to stay with her for Thanksgiving. That wasn't really convenient. But it was just how she felt.

Lexa turned to look at her. "You want to go with your friends."

It wasn't really a question. "Yeah, but -"

"Then we're going with your friends."

-0-

As the two of them embarked on their meandering walk to the meeting place (The Blakes' postage-stamp garage) The snow was gentle and fucking freezing. The sky had faded to the colour of cloth that had been white a long time ago. The wind had stilled to nothing, a subdued death, and a trio of chill and chance and snowflakes had bullied the flowers (that were possibly weeds; Clarke didn't know shit about flowers.) lining all the ugly, neat old-people gardens down the street into submission. Her goodbye to her mom had been brief but not bad. She meant her _I love you_s, for whatever reason. And Lexa was quiet. (Well. Lexa was always _quiet,_ she was just saying even less words than usual.) Clarke could see the strain in overheld breath, the razored focus in her firmly frontward gaze.

Octavia's house was only ten minutes away from hers, and something like muscle memory awoke in her tissue, because she wasn't even thinking about her destination, but her legs still carried her. Clarke burrowed down into her coat, stubbornly refusing to put up the hood. The snow descended softly, vanishing as it touched the concrete of pavement and road and other scars on the earth left by humanity. After a few awkward moments of silence, Clarke couldn't help thinking Lexa was almost - nervous? Above the cut of her fingerless gloves, she kept picking at her nails, and the line of her mouth was an echo of anticipation.

They were about to turn onto Octavia and Bellamy's street when something made Clarke stop short, beneath a broken lamppost. "Lexa," Lexa gave her an expectant look. _There's definitely something up._ With the pallid white flecks of snow swirling, weightless, through the cold still air, there was something nearly magic written into the fabric of the moment. (_Christ, I'm cheesy_, Clarke inwardly winced. But this wasn't the time to complain about the romantic in her.) Because Lexa was just so beautiful, that it was almost hard to notice it all at first. It crept up on you unawares, layer by layer by layer, and frozen crystals of snow were catching in her hair, one melting on an eyelash. And she could see her breath, realized by the chill, mingling with her breath in the live-wire space between them. Whatever she'd been about to say deserted her. She didn't need it anymore.

Clarke savoured the moment she closed the distance, her lips meeting Lexa's slowly, her arms going of their own accord around her neck, fingers finding purchase in the dark curls matted damp with snow. Every cell in her body relaxed, in resonance of coming home. The warmth in the pit of her stomach unfurled, releasing the butterfly army, and from the gentle touch of her lips radiated a supernatural kind of soft heat, filling her up. She didn't care about the snow anymore, the cold had evaporated, irrelevant. She could feel her eyelashes flutter closed, Lexa's pulse in her cheek against hers. Clarke stayed like that for a small infinity, relishing the warmth, the joy, the whatever it was. But she couldn't be still forever; her lips moving more firmly, more certainly, and Clarke told her through the blood in her veins against the blood in hers that it was all going to work out. Her head tilted slightly, to spare her nose, as the snow came down, and her skin flickered on cell by cell, electric, crackling.

She couldn't quite see past the moment, and she didn't want to. Her heart was flooding the rest of her with something like a drug. Her blood was dancing through her system to the song of her heartbeat beside Lexa's. But however essential to her continued existence kissing Lexa seemed, she really did need to breathe.

_Damn you lungs. _As they drew back, burning in the early snow, Clarke struggled to get her heartbeat under control, to blink her vision back to reality, to gather back all her thoughts. She watched her breath melt into the air for a few seconds. "Um," _I swear I knew how to speak a minute ago._

"I..." Lexa was breathing better than her, but at least she wasn't alone with the sudden mindblank.

"We should..."

"Yeah..."

Clarke still wasn't exactly recovered when she and Lexa turned up at Octavia's driveway, and she could tell Lexa wasn't either, but that was better than Clarke being awkward and Lexa being weird. Octavia was bounding around in the drive as Bellamy hugged their mom goodbye, and Jasper and Monty, who was bundled up in the most ridiculous overreaction of a snowproof coat, were leaning against the chipped paintwork of what was assumedly Bellamy's new van, talking to Raven, who was smirking and tapping away at her phone.

"Clarke!" Octavia noticed her first, and Clarke waved (she had no idea why), hurrying over. "Hey. Good weekend?" Her grin didn't waver for a second, hair damp from the snow, as her eyes flickered to Lexa. "Lexa?"

"Yeah," Clarke nodded. She was starting to loose the dizzying force of the kiss, and everything was hightened now; the smell of the snow and the wet pavement and the trees, the spectrum of white and grey and brown eye-searing, the orchestrations of Lexa breathing beside her. She could feel herself filling up with a bubbling kind of excitement. She didn't realize she'd started grinning until her face began to hurt.

"Cool. We're going in, like - well, we're meant to be going now." Octavia said, as they were approached the van. She raised her voice. "But the _dumbass momma's boy_ won't get a move on!"

"I'm coming," Bellamy called, grinning, as their mom chided her language and waved a hello at Clarke. Aurora Blake was kind of her second mom by this point. "Ok, we've really got to go."

And so, as Bellamy insisted Octavia be strapped firmly in the front, Clarke piled into the back of the van with everyone else, sitting on the empty carpeted floor, squashed up beside Lexa. (To be honest, with everyone packed in, it was probably as safe as it was ever going to be.) Octavia twisted around in her seat, so she could still talk to everyone. "Road trip, bitches!"

-0-

"Who in Gods name are you texting?" Monty finally voiced, from where he was leaning against the back of the van, where the trunk would be if it was safe to sit in.

Raven, against the opposite side to Clarke, didn't look up from dull glow of her phone screen. "None of your business, chopstick."

"Is that a bit racist?" Monty snorted.

"Not when you're skinny and weird and exactly like a chopstick." Raven assured him, tapping away.

"Shots fired." Bellamy called, from the front seat, as he pulled out onto the highway.

"Seriously, who is it?" Monty pressed, the second Jasper, beside her, lunged for her phone and came up victorious, rolling away from Raven with a shout of triumph.

A grin flashed onto his face as he scrolled through the messages. "Challenge time," Jasper announced. Raven rolled her eyes and looked put out. "Three guesses to who Reyes is texting, based on the following messages; _This is why nobody hires engineers_. _Yeah, well, who told you mustaches were hot?_ Oh - oh! -_ I liked you better before we slept together_ -"

"Give me that, dickwad," Raven snapped, snatching her phone back at stowing it in her bra, out of reach, as Octavia fell into raucous shouts of laughter and Clarke leaned her head back against the side of the jostling van, watching Lexa, a few inches to her left, breathing and occaisionally smiling and looking awkward, and trying to resist the impulse to hold her hand.

Nobody had really commented or made any kind of deal regarding Lexa's sudden appearance on their road trip, but that was probably only because Clarke was trying to give off the vibe that she'd slay them if they did. And yet, _and yet_, she felt so different post-Lexa-make-out that it was hard to believe she didn't look any different. She felt so acutely alive, like her whole body was fortified with something inately unbreakable; she felt like she was glowing. She felt radioactive.

"Oh my god, Clarke, our mom saw your mom the other day with Kane -" Octavia was exclaiming. "And apparantly they held hands. For like, a second. But still." Clarke smiled, despite herself. But then Octavia turned to the others, it seemed, before she went on. "God, Thanksgiving at the Griffin house must have been fun, with those two mooning around making heart eyes at each other the whole time."

"Yeah, it was," Clarke retorted, stretching her legs out into Jasper's personal space.

For some reason, everyone found that hilarious. _Jesus Christ, what did I say? _

Raven stared at her. "Seriously? You haven't worked it out yet?"

Clarke frowned, and she was about to say something, but Jasper threw her a packet of Skittles, and that was that.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** No but guys I'm seriously getting nostalgic and silly about how close to the end this is. You're all amazing etc, I'll do this later. Sorry for the length, the last few are longer but it just seemed like the perfect place to end the chapter. (Yes, I know I should have got this up yesterday, but life got in the way. You love the anticipation anyway, you know you do.)

**22.**

"Oh, hey, Clarke!" Someone was calling over the din of the crammed Union. She barely picked up on the sudden prescence of Jasper (and, inevitably, Maya) beside her. She didn't look up.

"Can't talk, in the zone." If she could just get the shade of white right - God, she was so close. The image was just spilling out of her, ressurecting the paper with the intense precision of every brush stroke. She had no idea how this had happened, really; she knew she needed to get Wallace's final project done before all her other courses started going crazy with workloads. Maybe her dormitory was the problem, she'd pathetically decided; too relaxed for a workspace. So she'd taken her sketchbook and her paints to various different locations and procrastinated determinedly at every single one of them. (Of course, part of the problem was that she didn't know what she was actually painting, but still.) And then, at last, at a table in the corner of the student union, she'd started mixing colours and somehow... Seconds had beaded into minutes that had pooled into two hours and now she was creating a _fucking masterpiece_. Part of her knew she should probably have picked a different subject, but it was the only thing that was working.

Her arm ached, her new watercolour set was demolished, and the fruit od her labour was slowing forming, as she stroked on the snow. _Fuck you, watercolours,_ Clarke thought, triumphantly. _I'm the goddamn queen._

"Okay, _Sheldon_," Jasper grinned, then, assumedly to Maya, "There's no point when she gets like this, we might as well just go."

"Yep, see you," Clarke muttered, frantically mixing the right shade of grey for the final highlights. This; _this_ was why she was an artist. The moments like this, when the images were just pumping out of her, the rhythm of creation. Fuck Wallace. Fuck contorversy. This was the first thing that had given her that insane zest for art in weeks.

It was about half an hour later when she put her paintbrush down and stared. She felt like she'd just ran a marathon. Clarke scrutinized her work until she was happy to sign the corner; there was a chance it was the best piece of artwork she had ever produced, with the exception of the one on her bedroom cieling. The light, the shadow, the scale. She didn't even bother trying to swallow her grin. Being an artist was like being a serial mother. _My baby's beautiful._ Of course, there were the devilish details that she wasn't going to nitpick, but there always was. And from the angle she'd done it, you couldn't actually see either of their faces, so confidentiality still kept everything_ in the closet_. With the snow falling around the suburban streets, and the couple under the lamppost, it looked kind of like a Christmas card.

Clarke scanned and smiled and judged until it was dry, when she buried it in her bag, where she couldn't overthink and mentally ruin it, snatching up her umbrella (somewhere on the drive back from Ark, the snow had turned into thick, grey sleet, and hadn't stopped in the couple of days she'd been back) and shrugging on her jacket. Outside, the chill in the heavy, damp air hit her hard, like a tangible thing, and she cowered under her cheap umbrella, but she wasn't worrying about the rogue icy flecks splattering against her skin - as long as her painting was fine, she didn't care.

By the time she got to the art building, her hair was drenched, because apparantly if there was anything cold or inconvenient she was a fucking magnet for it. (Or her.)

The class that was just letting out into the main corridor looked a little bemused at the freshman dripping all over the carpet, but she wasn't worrying about them - not until her eyes caught on one of them, a little further down the corridor. Clarke braced herself, and fumbled in her bag, ready. "Hey," Anya turned around, surveying Clarke's wet hair and open bag and looking unimpressed. (Well. When did she ever look impressed?) (Anyway, she didn't have to. Lexa had told her she thought she was one of the best on the Astronomy course. There was no going back.) She cocked an eyebrow as her contribution to the conversation. _Oh well_. Her nose ring had been replaced by a metal stud, and that was slightly less threatening. "Can you give this to Wallace for me? It's my fall final." She dug it up, held it out. Anya considered it for a moment. "It is kind of your job." Clarke reminded her firmly.

Anya took it. "I'll drop it by tonight."

She'd turned to go, and Clarke could see her studying the painting, which gave her a smug kind of satisfaction, but it was something else that prompted her next sentence (which, frankly, came as a shock to her). "Thank you,"

Anya didn't look amused. "Like you said. It's my job."

"You do it really well." Clarke couldn't quite force a smile, but she'd done a lot already. Anya nodded, and Clarke watched her disappear around the corner with her painting in her hand, the watercolour depiction of the perfectly confusing end to her most confusingly perfect weekend, and she breathed in the autumn air, and she couldn't put it off any longer.

Clarke had turned around, feet carrying her out into the frozen onslaught of the endless sleet before she even knew what she was doing, and then she was back at their dormitory block, and she was tearing up the stairs two at a time, heart dancing in her ribs, hair dripping all over her shoulders. Her cold fingers fussed for a moment with the key in the lock, but then she opened the door to Lexa, sitting on her bed and she released the breath she didn't even know she'd been holding.

In the room they shared, the sound of the sleet pounding the world into submission seemed amplified, and it was almost encouraging her to just get over herself and clear this - all this - up. Lexa looked up at her entrance; she was gathering her books for her politics class.

"Lexa," Clarke said, and then it was like with her painting; except what was finally flowing from her was words that had been cluttering her brain too long, not paint. Lexa nodded, standing up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and going to get a notebook from the sill of the misty window. "Wait," Lexa turned around, awash in the rainy grey light. Clarke's gaze found hers. "I just want to tell you that -" She paused, arranging what she was trying to say in her mind. "I'm not really sure what's going on with you and me, but you're the first real thing I've felt since I ended it with Finn." She didn't care how Lexa was going to respond; she needed to hear this. "And I know how you feel about things. I know where you stand. I know your opinions, and I'm not ever going to try to drag you into something you're not comfortable with. But... I really like you," That sounded fucking lame, but what the hell. She felt _invincible_, all of a sudden. "And I think there could be something really _good_ here, if we want it. But if you're not okay with it, then fine, you call the shots." Clarke sought any kind of tell in Lexa's face, some kind of reply. "But I'm here." Sleet battered the window, hammered at the roof above them, the walls around them. Lexa's eyes were louder. Clarke steeled herself. She was ready to hear whatever Lexa had to say, she thought. She had to know, either way. Lexa looked more stunned, than anything, and Clarke didn't blame her. This might have been an impulsive descision, but it was a necessary one. And she had a feeling that she'd be glad she did it, whatever the outcome.

Lexa opened her mouth for a moment, but she didn't say anything. The grey light behind her, spilling around her thick hair and the cursive line of her shoulders reminded Clarke of renaissance paintings. Maybe she was going to say no; that her opinions were too strong, impossible to alter or work around. That they could just be roommates. But all Clarke could think was how the first time she saw her smile had just filled her with triumph, how the feel of her skin lit Clarke up, or how the first time they kissed had made her infinite. And the way she felt by the mountain, at the park, in the snow - whatever happened, happened, and she had to be grateful for that.

Lexa took a step away from the window. "Maybe it's all weakness," she said, and Clarke felt those words in her heart and she was inadvertantly drifting towards her. She met Lexa's eyes again, the colour of forests in the fog, the shade of hope, and she knew in that moment what Lexa was going to say next. "I don't care."

Then Clarke's lips met hers and all the rest fell into place, or blew away with the wind. Her heartbeat was singing, her mind both floating and thinking in sense for the first time. She wondered if all those nerve endings were always there, and Lexa just brought them to life, or if she made their existence altogether. Clarke's hands found their way from Lexa's back to tangle in her hair. She kissed her until she lost sight of everything else, she kissed her until she forgot why this had taken them so long, she kissed her until she felt every shitty love metaphor anyone had ever written tear through her.

When she came up for air she was grinning so uncontrollably her face hurt, and she could feel flowers blossoming across her chest, mind flooded with a kind of manic peace, a perfect frenzy. "You're awesome," Clarke managed, and she kissed her again.

"You're amazing," Lexa breathed, and Clarke finally understood the matter of speech about dying of happiness. She had no idea how they'd put off so long.

"I thought you had a class?" Clarke asked, arms going around Lexa's waist, pulling her closer.

Lexa was smiling in a goofy, unsure and breathlessly human way, bag dropping the floor from her shoulder. "_Fuck_ class."


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N** ~ You're getting this chapter early because I won't be able to get online all next week and I'm not that cruel. Lots of Ark Squad + love interests in this one, because we love them. Also, I'm just going to say that I did write this after staying up all night for a nineteen-hour Harry Potter marathon and the plot-fluff ratio is all off, but whatever. You love me. #They'veNoticed

**23.**

"Clarke..."

"Shhh."

"We have to -"

"Shhh." Clarke murmured, against the warm skin of Lexa's neck. This morning hadn't been the first time she woke up in a tangle of limbs and Lexa, but it had been the first morning she could let that warmth in her heart spill out and flood her face with what she imagined was the stupidest smile she'd smiled in a long time. It was also the first morning she could just roll over and start kissing her; she felt like she kind of had to honour that.

"We both have class..." Lexa's hair was ridiculous in the morning and Clarke thought it was adorable.

She planted a kiss on the place her neck became her shoulder. "_Fuck_ class."

"Mm," Lexa agreed. For a moment, Clarke was almost assured she'd convinced her. Then she started sitting up on the covers of her tiny little dorm bed. "But we have to have breakfast."

For the first time in her life, Clarke was actually kind of succeeding at not thinking past the second she was in. Kind of. She relented and sat back on her knees. "I think I have a two month-old jar of organic peanut butter in a drawer somewhere?"

"That's disgusting." Lexa swung her legs over the side of the far-too-tiny-for-two-people bed, picking up assorted items of clothing from across her side of the room (although sides were hardly necessary now). "I have to shower. And then we're going to breakfast."

When Lexa disappeared out the door, Clarke's brain came back down to earth again and she realized she was incredibly happy not knowing what the fuck was going on. But it was still a relatively weird sensation for her, so as she tamed her hair and got dressed and straightened the bed (_there's an ironic phrase_) she tried to amass all the new information she had into some kind of order.

Whatever the fuck had been going on with her and her roommate had always been an enigma to Clarke. But now they were officially a _something_. Also, however many sectioned-off parts of herself Lexa still had, at the start of the year she'd cut herself off from any kind of romantic involvement, and now she didn't care. Well, she did _care_, but she was working on it. For her. _For her!_ Which made Clarke so proud and happy she wanted to cry. There was the slight, ever-present thought that living in the same dormitory as your kind-of girlfriend was a fucking awful idea, as was the thought of Skyping Abby and saying something along the lines of '_hey, Mom, remember the weird, hot politics student I made crash our Thanksgiving? Yeah, well, we're sleeping together. No, this is not a phase. Please admit that you're in love with Marcus Kane_.' but Clarke decided to put off the problems for at least a day. After all the effort and confusion and denial it took to get them here, she thought she owed that to herself. That they deserved that, at least.

Lexa reappeared at the dormitory fully dressed, with her hair sorted and her eyeliner game upped by about a thousand percent to grab her bag, and Clarke. Clarke locked the dormitory behind her, and, with her stomach fluttering in the most off-putting way, set her shoulders back and flashed Lexa what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Lexa nodded gravely. "I survived a road trip with these people. I think I can handle breakfast."

_Not what I meant_. Clarke nodded. She still wanted to make sure Lexa was okay. Even the slightest confession of emotion was a huge barrier breached. She didn't want to go too far too fast for her, which was almost a paradox in that she'd waited _so fucking long_ to admit all this to herself - like an idiot - that she wanted to go as far as she could as fast as she could. (Even though she wanted to savour every second). (_Fuck_.) (Her brain didn't make sense.) "Breakfast and total honesty." Clarke muttered, reaching down to entwine her fingers with Lexa's, telling her through the blood pulsing in the veins beneath the skin there to the blood pulsing in the veins in Lexa's that they could take this. Lexa gave a set nod. Clarke kept thinking of everyone's amusement when Maya first turned up in their lives, the merciless teasing after Raven slept with Wick, the eyebrow wiggles fuelled by Lincoln's every appearance. "This could be painful."

"That's life." Lexa told her, fingers tightening slightly despite herself as they made their way down the hall stairs.

Before they went through the doors of the cafeteria, Clarke took a mental breath, like a swimmer before the dive. _A thousand percent not ready for this._ But she knew she never would be; so she just shoved the doors open and forced herself to look at her friends' regular table. Lincoln was there, thank God, with Octavia taking up most of his personal space and vice versa, and the rest of the usual suspects. _The only way through is through. _

Raven noticed them first. Clarke met her eyes across the room as she looked up. She saw Lexa's prescence, and the join of their hands register, and a triumphant kind of smirk spread across her face. Octavia looked behind her next, apparantly wondering what Raven was staring at, which made Lincoln glance their way, and then Jasper and Monty were staring as well. Clarke traced a reassuring circle with her thumb on Lexa's. Raven still had that terrifying, amused look on her face when Clarke drew up a chair. (The queue was always too absurd to face first-thing. And she wanted to get this out of the way.)

"Oh my god," Monty managed.

"Good morning to you, too." Clarke remarked, pulling her water bottle from her bag.

"Morning," Lexa added, too late and too flat.

Raven was grinning. She slapped Jasper's hand and then held out her palm across the table to Octavia. "Pay up."

Octavia threw Clarke and Lexa a look of mock-annoyance, barely concealed glee simmering beneath. "You couldn't have waited a month longer?"

"Twenty bucks, Blake." Raven demanded. "Still before Christmas."

_They were betting on us. Fucking hell. Of course they were betting on us._ Clarke felt her face heating up. She wondered if she was so obviously queer to everyone, and if so, why nobody had felt the need to let her know. (Just a heads' up would have been nice.) ('_Hey, Clarke - you like girls. Want to go get pizza?_') (Really.) Octavia shot her a dirty look and dug in her purse for the note. That was when Clarke noticed Jasper and Monty exchanging coins under the table, and she wanted to sink down in her chair until she was under the table. She didn't. She was Clarke Griffin; artist, astronomer, femminist, free-thinker and now, openly bisexual. She had more self respect than that. She put her arm around Lexa instead, and hoped that wasn't too much.

"Sorry, Octavia," She managed.

Lincoln smiled from the other side of his girlfriend. "I apologize for... Them. Congratulations."

Lexa nodded. Octavia seemed to have regained control of herself, miraculously. "Congratulations doesn't really cover it,"

"We were wondering how damn long it was going to take you to realize." Raven informed them, unnecessarily, picking apart a bagel.

"Was it that obvious?" Clarke muttered, but she knew the answer.

Octavia cocked her head in the same way people do at dogs, or ignorant children. "You know Raven and Wick? Well, you see, it's like that, but a thousand times worse."

Lexa gave Clarke a look. "I always thought we were quite subtle."

Jasper snorted. "The heart-eyes speak for themselves."

Clarke was still a little bewildered. "So you - you _all_ knew I was bi?"

"Yeah," Raven shrugged, as if it was the clearest thing in the world.

"I didn't fucking know!" Clarke whipped her head back to Lexa. "Did you know?"

She could see Lexa measuring the situation in her mind, weighing up her options. She had no idea when she started reading Lexa like a book, but there was no going back now. A previously indecipherably blank book with a complicated, endlessly compelling plot. "Hope can get out of hand." _Goddamn it, Lexa. You're meant to be on my side. _

"Well, there's a certain number of times a straight girl can say she'd bang Evangeline Lilly and I think we can all agree you passed it a long time ago," Octavia told her.

Clarke had to admit defeat. "I'm going to go get food." She knew it was killing her, but the angel cake seemed the appropriate way to commemorate.

-0-

Clarke was sitting on her bed, mind buzzing with the fact Professor Wallace had probably seen her watercolour by now, and whether or not she should officially come out to her mom via Skype or wait until she saw her in person, and _not_ doing a personal evaluation of her Astronomy essay like she was supposed to be when her phone buzzed on the widowsill. Octavia. Naturally. _Whats you and L up to tonight? No gory details please._

She rolled her eyes for the benefit of absolutely nobody (Lexa was still in class) and tapped back her reply. _Idk, just chilling_. Probably watching Lost - Clarke had smuggled the box set back with her after Thanksgiving, and, as it turned out, Lexa was kind of a nerd. Scratch that, Lexa was a giant nerd.

_Wrong_, Octavia replied, almost immediately. _Ice rink opening in town for the xmas season, you're coming, bring her it's like a quadruple date plus monty and maybe bell it's gonna be cute_

_Are you fucking serious_, Clarke replied. But she could feel herself getting on board with the idea, even if it didn't sound like Lexa's thing. She'd talk to her when she got in.

_Thanksgivings over its time for reindeers and ice skating, youre coming._

And that was that.

-0-

It _was_ cute.

Clarke had to give Octavia that.

It was cute in the way a toddler persisting in nonsense for the fifth day running was cute; she wished it wasn't, and it was slightly irritating. Factory-style fairy lights were strung all around the outside of the rink, and there was a vacant stage-style oasis in the centre, room for some live performance that hadn't turned up yet. And the smell radiating from the attatched pop-up coffee shop was enticing enough. Of course, that still wasn't making up for the fact that Jasper and Maya has turned up wearing matching Christmas jumpers.

"Well I think you look great." Raven remarked, staring from the white snowflakes striping Jasper's sweatshirt, to their twins lining the hem of his girlfriends' cardigan. It was adorable and disgusting enough to take up everybodys primary focus for the first few seconds.

"But I look better," Wick amended, ushering the whole overgrown gaggle of them through the reception-area.

Raven snorted. "Keep dreaming."

Clarke hung back, she and Lexa gravitating onto the end of the skate-hiring queue. It was fucking freezing, but the sleet was gone, which was good, and the sky had frosted over blue. "Hey," She moved foreward with the sluggish line. In front of them, Bellamy and Monty seemed to be having some kind of video-game related arguement. Lexa was wearing her coat undone, and those weird little skeleton gloves, and Clarke was sure she'd plunged into high-definition, a Blu-Ray world, because every time she looked at her she noticed something new, or with a more dazzling clarity. She liked the way her lungs churned the air to their own rhythm, and how her body stayed in tune. "You still good?"

"Still good." Lexa confirmed. She'd been a little more restrained since their first public breakfast, but Clarke was prepared for that. She could decipher it, but she wasn't going to over analyse anything. She was not going to over analyse anything. "My back still hurts, but it's fine."

Clarke frowned, mostly so she wouldn't start laughing like she had when it happened, last night. "They really should make those beds bigger..."

Lexa stared at her, exasperated. "You can laugh if you want, Clarke."

"I'm not laughing!"

"Fine." She raised an eyebrow. It had been funny, though, in the moment, when it happened. "It _hurt_. Dormitory floors aren't soft." In that instant, Clarke caught a glimpse of how child-Lexa must have looked, all stubborn and sulky. _D__ear lord you're cute_. "God, I haven't been ice skating since I was six."

_Way to change the subject you ass._ "I can barely remember the last time we all went," Clarke was a little surprised at how well Octavia's marshalling power had worked; Lincoln, Jasper and Maya, Raven and Wick, she and Lexa, plus Monty, plus Bellamy. "I was always shit."

"Just because you want to hold her hand!" Octavia interjected, as she passed, skates in hand. Clarke struck her with the full force of her deadliest glower.

Holding hands was the least of her troubles.

Because as they were skating in the cold stinging wind, she lost herself, for a minute, in the sheer cheesy brilliance of it; the chill and the fairy lights reflected in Lexa's eyes, the singer (arrived sometime ago with no fuss) pervading the air with swells of acoustic guitar, flourishes of chords strummed liquid between one another, and Lexa's unsteady almost-falling nosies worming into the cracks of the moment, and how free, how elegant Clarke felt tearing across the ice, the moment before it vanished from under her feet.

After a sharp blur of shouting and the fabric of Lexa's coat bunched up under her fingers, providing literally no support, and dull sudden shocks of pain in her hip and gut, stomach jerking up into her chest, the slick freezing ice soaking through the ankles of her jeans and scratching her slippery hands, she realized just how much of an idiot she was.

"Fuck!" She'd grabbed in her panic, grabbed Lexa, and that was why Clarke was lying on top of her, freaked out, in the middle of a crowded (Jaha-Woods-student-dominated) ice rink.

She resisted the urge to just slam her head down onto the ice and die there forever, and partly just because that would mean Lexa would be eternally trapped, but mostly because she was terrified she'd seriously injured her. _It had to be me. It had to be fucking me_. Despite the cold, she swore she could feel all of her blood boiling up into her face. The musician played on. Clarke straightened her arms, finding Lexa's startled eyes and trying to tell her she was really goddamn sorry, but either she'd forgotten how to say anything that wasn't a mumble, a swear word or a mumbled swear word, or she'd suddenly become mute. _Oh my god, I've killed my girlfriend._ Worry welled like blood from a cut.

"Shit," Clarke groaned again, rolling herself off of Lexa. _Please tell me I haven't just killed the first (kind of) girlfriend I ever had._ "Fucking shit, are you okay?" She gripped Lexa's freezing hand with her freezing hand and all the bones felt like they were in the right place, so that was okay. _Well. There goes the last four months of my life_. "You're okay, right? I haven't murdered you, fuck, you're alright?" Clarke was on her knees then, ice soaking through to her knees. Lexa was sitting up. That was a good sign. "Are you hurt? Lex? Motherfuck. Tell me you're okay."

Lexa groaned, the ends of her hair wet, wincing and rubbing at her shoulder. "I'm fine -"

"Are you sure, cause I have first aid training down to a _tee_, I was almost going to be a paramedic, are you sure?" Clarke had no idea what was going on with her mind. Mentally screaming at herself to _calm the hell down_, she steadied herself against the barrier with one hand, gripping Lexa's with the other, helping her up. "You can stand up alright, you can see?"

She was actually, genuinely flooded with white panic, until she caught the slightest smile ghosting over the corner of Lexa's lips, and the way the flocked crowds of concerned skaters were looking at her, heard Octavia's laughter from her seat on the wooden picnic-table things that clustered around the rink. "I can see." Lexa assured her, which made Clarke's face burn even more.

"Good." Clarke muttered, stubborn, letting go of her hand. _That's the second time you've ended up on the floor when I was trying to be romantic_. "Well. You want to get some nachos?"

Lexa nodded, and Clarke could see she was stifling a laugh. Traitor. "Nachos are good."

"Wow," Raven told her, as she collapsed down beside her to unlace her skates. "That was close. You almost overreacted or something."

"Shut up." Clarke shoved her feet into her own boots, which felt weird, digging out her purse. Octavia was still laughing.

"See, Lexa, you're in good hands." Wick reassured her. "If ever you get a papercut, just remember, she was almost going to be a paramedic."

"I hate all of you." Clarke told them, standing to join the food line.

"Ouch. That hurt my feelings!" Octavia yelled across at her. "You're gonna have to make sure I can still see!"

Clarke almost flipped her the bird, but then she noticed the little boy in the queue behind her and stopped herself. She tried to keep her face down as she ordered jalepeno peppers and extra cheese, but somehow she got the sense that everyone here had witnessed the whole fiasco. She shot a concerned glance over at Lexa, who was smiling slightly under pink cheeks, and looked very interested in the table she was sitting at. She was kind of hoping the nachos made up for it. She slid the box, hot from the cheese, in front of her, and tuned out the idiots staring.

"Seriously," Jasper called, hurrying over from the rink, beside Maya, to join them. "You two just can't get enough?"

Clarke looked him straight in the eye. "At least we aren't wearing matching Christmas jumpers."

"I'm sorry," Octavia informed her. "But there's no diverting this. It's only once every few years the legendary Clarke Griffin Panic Squeak Voice shows itself."

"You slipped over, shoved your girlfriend with you, landed on top of her, and then freaked out about whether or not you'd killed her." Raven added. "You're not ever going to live that down."

Clarke turned to Bellamy for backup, but he was leaning across to the table behind them, where he'd been engaged in a confusing conversation with a grounder girl Clarke swore she knew from around college and swore had some kind of retarded name like Echo (although like anyone she was friends with could complain about unusual names), and who seemed to be an infuriating intellectual match for him. "Whatever."

Lexa was grinning when she caught her eye, which melted her heart and pissed her off at the same time. She was never going to survive this woman.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** Oh my god, I am so not ready to be posting the penultimate chapter of this. SO NOT READY. But I am however really pleased with how this all has turned out. I think you're going to like this chapter. (Almost as much as I like you.)

**24.**

"So, how does this whole girlfriend-girlfriend thing work?" Clarke grinned, hefting her now-empty laundry basket up on top of one of the machines. "Is that what we say?" Lexa shot her a look. "What? I've never had an official girlfriend before."

They were using the otherwise-deserted laundry room in Raven and Octavia's building again. The lack of mould was kind of worth the extra two minute walk. Clarke hopped up to sit on the edge of the convienient folding-side-thing, legs swinging in front of her whirring washer. "Official?" Lexa reached down to yank her machine open, stuffing in handfuls of her clothes, raising an eyebrow as she came back up and fiddled with the buttons. "Should I be worried?"

"Octavia said Jennifer Lawrence doesn't count." Clarke tapped the space next to her. "Come on. Sit."

"I'm not a dog, Clarke," Lexa remarked, but she sat anyway. She was wearing a tank advertizing a band nobody else had ever heard of, ever, and her feet were practically touching the floor, which was hardly fair.

Clarke considered. "You're kind of like this adorable puppy."

"No." Lexa looked slightly offended. "That is not badass. I am a badass."

"Yeah," Clarke agreed. "An adorable, badass puppy."

"_You_ look like a puppy," Lexa shot.

Clarke caught her eye and couldn't supress the laugh. "You don't _look_ like a puppy. You've just got the - big, cute puppy eyes."

"I am not cute, Clarke." Lexa insisted. "I am a badass."

"Of course you are." Clarke kissed her nose. _A cute, badass little puppy. Who's still taller than me_. Lexa looked alarmed. Honestly, how she ever found Lexa overly intense or intimidating or weird was beyond her. She was just Lexa. And that was all she needed to be. "I bet you were adorable when you were a kid, though." Lexa didn't look amused. Clarke couldn't make herself drop it. "Do you have any pictures?"

"Clarke," Lexa stared at her, and Clarke realized it was slightly unusual, how much she knew about her but so little. How she could have produced a photographic drawing of the way she moved her hand to brush back her hair from her face, gone all Shakespeare and monologue-d her smile, composed a symphony to the tune of her breathing. How she read the intent and the feeling that drove and dove her every word and action, how she'd probably tear apart anyone who looked at her the wrong way with just the force of her stubby little nails, how she'd never wanted anything more than to heal the shrapnel wound that had been Costia as much as she could, but she didn't actually know what her favourite colour was. (Or why she'd made her go all sappy and _Twilight_.)

"Favourite colour, go." Clarke let slip, completely by accident.

Lexa didn't question it. (Another thing Clarke was never going to stop grinning like some twelve year old dork about. Lexa just kind of went along with all of her crazy.) "Green. And you?"

"Mmm-mm." Clarke shook her head. "We always talk about me. I just want to know everything about you right now."

"Why ask? You always seem to know everything about me before I know it anyway." Lexa seemed so honest, so genuine, and Clarke's heart was smiling.

"Because." Clarke explained, shoving her shoulder with hers. "Tell me about your childhood."

Lexa snorted. "You're getting into this."

"Yes." Clarke poked her in the ribs. "Now talk."

"Well, my Lord of the Rings obsession started when I was about seven."

"Seven?"

"I was very mature. I think Liv Tyler was my first crush."

"Snap!" Clarke exclaimed. Ever since she'd realized, the sheer amount of famous and-or fictional women she was unknowingly in love with was just snowballing. "Love her. But I think I always wanted to be Eowyn."

"Kick-ass blonde femminist, destroyer of Nazgul. I can see it." Lexa considered. "But you're better looking."

Clarke's heart pursued the unrealistic and childish ambition of becoming gymnast, and flooded her stomach with butterflies. Fucking hell. _When did I become thirteen again?_ "Let me just clarify." Clarke grinned. "You're saying I'm hotter than the Lady of Rohan?"

"Of course," Lexa nodded, as if that should have been the most obvious thing. _Marry me._

"I think I need to get that on record somewhere." She avoided eye contact until she'd calmed herself down. (She could go scream later.) "Keep talking."

"Anya and I met when I was about twelve. From there on out she practically raised me. I was a tiny Neanderthal, really. My whole childhood was just me blabbing opinions and running around the forest, the mountain." _What a place to grow up._ "I'm so attatched to it though - Weather, and the woods - I know I'm going to leave at some point, but it's such a strange thought, of one day not being able to see it. Anyway. Life story. I realized I was gay when I watched Scarlett in The Other Boleyn Girl for the first time. That was also when I realized that nobody should ever try to make a Philippa Gregory novel into a film. And the first time I hiked to the top of Mount Weather, I was six and I felt invincible. I've never broken a bone, but once I fell out of a tree and scraped my leg bloody, but I was too stubborn to tell anyone it hurt. To Kill A Mockingbird changed my life. Anya and I took part in one of the charity marathons around here and it's a tradition that we do it every year. I was at school once and I heard a boy saying that a woman's place was in the kitchen, so I punched him in the face."

"I love you."

It took a moment for her words to sink below the surface, where they'd floated for a few moments. Clarke became painfully, acutely aware of her every breath, the suddden, prickling heat filling her head. She felt her whole body stiffen for a second, before her every muscle relaxed into a sigh. She wasn't thinking. It just fell out. And she hadn't said she was in love with Lexa (thank God), which she wasn't really, yet (although with every passing sunrise she was more and more sure that she was beginning to _fall_ in love with her). But she did love her already, in her way._ That doesn't mean I should go blurting it out. Oh god._ Lexa had such issues with accepting love, and giving it out.

But Clarke was oddly calm, now. She wasn't going to take it back. She couldn't act weird about it, because it wasn't weird. It was right. Lexa's eyes were blown wide, and she closed her mouth, swallowed, jaw tightening. She blinked several times as the silence roared on and on, beyond the whirl of the washing machines. "Shit." Lexa breathed.

"Yeah." Clarke studied her for a moment. She didn't look like she was about to run away.

"I love you too."

Clarke stared, and something collapsed inside her. Something always did.

She looked at Lexa until she was sure she understood that she was trying to convey how ecstatic she was, how far Lexa had come to even speak the words, how her blood was dancing to the ballad of Lexa's heartbeat, how she wanted to scream and cry and sing and also kind of to laugh hysterically although she wasn't sure why. She looked at Lexa until she couldn't think of anything else. She looked at Lexa until she couldn't spend one more moment not kissing her.

Her arms fell into place around Lexa's neck, and they were just looking at each other, like they were in some shitty romantic movie, for a second of complete, eternal peace, before Clarke tilted her head to close the distance and felt the relief blaze through her every cell. Blaze. Because she was burning, burning, and instead of choking on the fumes she was breathing properly for the first time. Everything else fell away, nothing else mattered.

She was tasting the real air at last. So she breathed deeper, kissed her the way that made the two of them immortal, and then Lexa was lying back on the surface of the laundry counter, and Clarke was following her down, hands braced either side of her head.

She completely forgot they were in a public place until the door opened.

"_Oh my_."

Clarke didn't understand what was going on. Her heart was going wild, a ribcage rave. She was boiling and she could feel Lexa's hand on her arm, certain her fingerprints were searing permenantly into her skin, as she sat up on the washer-top. Lexa looked faintly traumatized. Then Clarke was furious. It had to be him, didn't it? It had to be - she'd show him, fucking sassy Milhouse-faced bastard - she grabbed the nearest weaponizable object, an empty Persil bottle, and hauled it across the room. It hit the wall next to the door and clattered to the floor as she scrambled to decency, straightening her shirt. _Only me. Only fucking me._

-0-

Clarke was sure she was still scarlet (despite the snow. _Snow_.) four hours later, when she'd dragged Lexa into town for pre-emptive Christmas shopping. It had to be them didn't it? It had to be after one of the best moments of her entire life? And on top of all that, it had to be _John fucking Murphy._ Clarke was never going to look at him again. But despite it all, she was still anchored to the ninth cloud, she was still glowing. Even public making-out voyeurism wasn't enough to really touch her, or the things she'd said and felt. The mornings talk in the laundry room was eternal. This morning was untouchable.

"What about this, is this something a guy would like?" Clarke frowned, examining the body spray. "Or does that insinuate I think Bellamy smells bad?"

"Don't expect me to know what men want," Lexa remarked, replacing the gift box she'd briefly been looking at.

Clarke snorted. "You're gold."

"So I've been told." Lexa smiled. Her lips barely moved, but she was smiling with her whole face, and the rest of her too, and that didn't really make sense but neither did Lexa and that was the only way Clarke could describe it._ I love you, I love you, and you said you love me too._

"Don't get too cocky, you're still my little puppy." Clarke muttered, dropping the aerosol she was holding. "And I'm a terrible friend, so _help me_."

"You are not a terrible friend." Lexa drifted over. "Just drop hints. Ask without asking. You've still got a few weeks."

"Yeah, but I always put off until I _don't_ have a few weeks. Which is why I wanted to get everything done early." Clarke could hear the whine infecting her voice. Because_ really._ And it wasn't as if she could _drop hints_ and _pick things up_ via text chats with her mom. She sighed. "Whatever." Then her eye snagged on something roped around the shelves down the aisle. "I need to decorate the dormitory."

Lexa's smile wavered slightly, perhaps unnoticeable to anyone else, but it was screaming at Clarke, like she was the most nerdy computer geek and the only one able to notice the glitch. She started to say something, but, as Clarke suspected, the tides turned sharply. "I think that's something we should talk about..."

Clarke nodded, a wave of relief washing across her. "I was thinking the same thing. If we're going to do this properly -"

Lexa nodded. "Anya was just complaining that she needs a housemate, to split costs -"

"But aren't you still paying for the dorm? I'm not going to let you go bankrupt over -"

"I'll sort it out."

Clarke relaxed into a smile. "This is only going to make us stronger, you know?"

The corner of Lexa's mouth twitched up into a smile that lodged itself right in Clarke's chest. "I know." She really wanted to kiss her, but she had the feeling that wasn't her smartest option, considering what happened the last time she went with the flow in public place. _Damn Lexa, always making me want to kiss her_. Clarke was about to rid herself of her last fuck and go for it, when Lexa's ringtone exploded to life from her bag, and made them both jump, which was so ridiculous Clarke nearly started laughing.

Lexa was regaining control of herself, fumbling to retrieve her phone and swipe to answer the call. "Hello," Clarke raised an eyebrow in query, and Lexa mouthed the word '_Anya_' at her. It was funny, but Clarke kind of... appreciated Anya now. She hadn't properly seen her since she gave her the painting to pass on, but hearing Lexa talk about her, tell stories from when they were younger did something to her. Anya was good for Lexa, which meant she was just good, by Clarke's standards. "Okay. Yes. Right. No, I'm in town, early Christmas shopping. So did I. Yes, she's right here, wh -" Lexa moved her phone away from her face, turning to Clarke again. "She says Professor Wallace wants you to stop by his office when you can."

Clarke froze. There were several stages of fear, and all of them invigorating, and overcomeable. _Wants to see you in his office_ was one of the most intense stages. It was almost as bad as _six missed calls from Mom. It's the painting_. She knew it was the painting. It had to be - God, he was homophobic. That was what it was. Or maybe he wasn't, and he just hated it. That would be worse. Had she done anything wrong? Clarke racked her brains. She couldn't think of anything, which just made it more annoying. Lexa was looking at her, and saying something else. _For fucks' sake._ Clarke shook off her brief panic and tried to focus, which was easy, when the subject was Lexa. "Yeah?"

"Do you want me to ask her about her spare room?" Lexa repeated.

Clarke shook her head. "Sort out your housing fees with the college first. You aren't going to end up homeless for me."

"Okay." Lexa turned back to her phone.

-0-

Clarke could feel her heartbeat in her head as she made her way down the main corridor of the art block. _No. You are not going to worry about nothing. You are Clarke fucking Griffin_. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, inhaled as calmingly as she could. She cut herself loose from nerves, fell back into the glory of the mornings' declarations. Lexa loved her. She loved her, she loved her, and that was all that mattered. They were titanium. Then she made herself knock twice of Wallace's door before she could freak out again. "Come in,"

Clarke squeezed between the door and the desk, shutting it quietly behind her and sitting where he motioned for her to, across from him. "Hi."

"Miss Griffin." Wallace swivelled in his chair to drop a stack of papers on the shelf behind him, letting the greeting dangle like a live wire in the air for a moment. Nothing good ever started with _Miss Griffin_. Clarke forced herself not to waver, as Wallace turned back to her. "I would like to talk about the piece you submitted for your fall final."

_Of course you would_. "Yes."

Wallace looked down at his desk for a second before he met her eyes again. Why did old people have to drag everything out so much? She was never going to do that. "Miss Griffin," Wallace exhaled. Did that count as a sigh? Or just an elderly guy with lung issues? "The artwork you turned in is... Highly controversial."_ It's not, though. Not really._ Although she guessed if she was born in the Dark Ages and someone painted a snowy lesbian kiss for their exam, she might think differently. If she wasn't just thinking about Lexa _all the live long day_ (honestly, this love business was highly inconvenient) she might think differently. Somehow, Clarke realized, everything came back to Lexa in the end. She didn't say anything. "But, as I always say, what is art, if not controversy?" Relief flooded her veins. Wallace looked her square in the eye, and told her, "The painting you produced is, truly, very good. It has its flaws, mind, but you are a talented young artist with great potential."

Clarke felt the smile bleed onto her face, through her body. "Thank you, really," Professor Dante Wallace just told her she was talented. _Fucking hell. I'm the queen. _

It was a good thing he held up a hand, or she might have babbled on like a retard for the rest of the day. "And I would like it to be among the new years' official artwork. Perhaps for show in the library, or the Student Union. That's where we usually hang them. Of course, I have to check that's okay with you -"

"Yes, thank you." Clarke was teetering dangerously on the edge of hysterical laughter. "I would be so honoured, thank you." She didn't want to go overboard, but she was pretty sure freshmen's work hardly ever made the walls.

Clarke had no idea when college became such a success. (No.) (Actually, she did.)


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Definitely, Maybe**

**A/N ~** God, I'm really not ready to be writing this. I just want to give a huge cheer to everybody who took time out of their lives to read my fanfiction, follow, review, ship, squeal, whatever. I've had such a blast writing it, this whole thing has been a joy from start to finish. By the time I'd posted four chapters, I think, I had more of you reading than I'd had on any fic before. The clexa fandom is the best thing, and I'm really glad my first fic for it has been this, and that it's made so many of you smile. Keep calm and clexa on. We are endgame.

I have plans for several more clexa fics, honestly I could write these two forever, so keep an eye out for my coming reunion-with-a-twist, and the rock band AU I'm plotting. If enough of you want a sequel, then it could be on the cards, but at the minute I'm not sure. I might do a few one-shots set in this AU, but again, wait and see.

Thank you!

**25.**

"Get it, get it, get it, Clarke, _shoot_, shoot now!"

Clarke shot, thumb hammering down on the button. She had no idea what kind of retarded game they were playing; from what she'd picked up of the plot, some of the characters came from space, some of the characters lived in savage tribes, and they were all fighting another lot of characters, who had cannibal armies. She didn't know what was going on, but everyone was addicted, and the way it animated Lexa was sort of hilarious. "I'm trying, Lex, I'm - oh my god, it's following me, kill it, kill it, kill it Lexa, Lexa!" Clarke watched her character crumple to the ground. "Mother_fuck_."

"I think we need a level twelve healer," Lexa frowned.

"I was the level twelve healer!" Clarke yelled. The level ended with a flashing, red '_failed_' sign. _I know we failed, don't rub it in my face._

"Okay, dorks, my turn." Octavia demanded, snatching Clarke's controller as Lexa offered hers up to Lincoln. "Then we discuss the plan."

Clarke sighed, bitterly revelling in the horror of her demise, scooting back to sit on the floor against the sofa beside Lexa. "The plan?" Clarke asked. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Yeah, the plan," Octavia told her, flicking through the characters to find her custom warrior. "The Mount Weather plan. Operation Freedom. The test bunnies? Come on!"

"I thought we'd heard the last of this." Raven sighed.

"Um," Octavia pressed play on the level. "That was before Clarke became queen in law to the grounders. I figured Lexa could get a bunch more people on board, and _boom_. Bunny rights central."

"Did you consider asking Lexa?" Lexa wondered.

Bellamy's house had been infiltrated and overrun, but he didn't seem to notice - that grounder girl, Echo, had somehow been dragged into the vortex, and he was debating something with her, crammed into one of the ratty old armchairs. Jasper and Maya were all cutesy and cuddly on the sofa, which they shared with a very awkward third wheel named Monty. Raven was sitting on top of Wick with a DS in hand, smirking and snapping in a way that somehow was adorable on them. Game night had grown. The Christmas tree, dripping bedraggled tinsel and faint fairy lights, shimmered in the corner of her vision.

And for once, Clarke wasn't worrying about Raven, or Finn, or anything else. She was just worrying about kicking cannibal ass with her amazing, amazing, girlfriend.

The night rain cascading down from the heavens tuned out the sounds of gunfire from the TV and Lincoln and Octavia yelling in front of her. It was the Christmas tree that did it, really, the shitty, messy tangle of guady decorations and sparse sparkles winking at her across the stuffed living room, but it was also Lexa. Lexa sitting beside her, smiling so easily, and her friends all around her, somehow having sorted their shit out in time for the holidays.

She clambered to her feet, holding out a hand to help Lexa up. She motioned for her to follow her out into the hallway of Bell's house. ("Stop fucking in my bathroom!" Wick contributed, and Raven smacked his shoulder.)

Once more, Lexa didn't question her. "Okay." Clarke told her, closing the living room door before Octavia's yelling could wreck the mood. She dug in her bag, hanging over one of the hooks by the front door, fishing in the hidden back zip for her smoothest move ever. "I have a Christmas gift for you. Well, I actually have several, but I wanted to give this one to you now, because I know we'll be at home, and we won't see each other in person on Christmas -"

After Christmas, Lexa would move in with Anya. They'd discussed it at length, because, really, living together in the first few months of a relationship was a recipe for disaster. And during the Christmas holidays, hopefully, Clarke would find a way to let her mother in on everything. (And wasn't _that _going to be fun?) Lexa's smile didn't waver, but when Clarke searched for that romantic, touched look in her eyes, she wasn't disappointed. "I hope you're not trying to guilt trip me, because you're not getting anything a single day too early."

"I'm so glad you said_ a single day too early_." Clarke grinned, but it lasted only second before she felt it soften. She was staring at Lexa, and maybe she'd watched a few too many dumb love stories on Netflix lately, because it seemed to Clarke that she was looking into the future. She was looking into the everything; and with the gentle light of the distant lampposts through curling mist and desperate rain washing over them, distorted by the smudged glass of the hallway window, Clarke realized she had no idea what she'd do without Lexa. Lexa, who hadn't even been looking at her the first time they spoke, shut away from the world, whose ghost-smile as she helped jam shut a dripping window over wet books and tiny cake was imprinted on her brain. Whose soaked coat had crumpled against hers as they crowded under a single umbrella and raced back to their dormitory. Who brought her coffee and art notes even when she was angry, who told her things she probably hadn't told anybody. Lexa who showed her mountains under the sunset and let her hold her hand. Who tolerated Abby, who listened to all her nostalgia and watched the stars with her freezing hand in her freezing hand. Lexa, who she kissed in the snow and followed in the rain. Lexa who she loved, Lexa who loved her back. Lexa who was beautiful and smart and a little bit strange, and who was looking at her now in a way that made Clarke feel like she was immortal. She handed her the box. "You are definitely maybe the best thing that's ever happened to me." She knew Lexa was still scarred when it came to these things, but really, who wasn't? Clarke hadn't even truly been over Finn a few months ago.

Lexa's eyes flickered back to hers before she lifted the lid. In retrospect, Clarke probably should have wrapped the box up. _Oh well. I have too much game for wrapping paper to contain_. Clarke gave her a reassuring just-open-it-already face, and she lifted the lid off, and Clarke wondered if there was a line she'd crossed, if this was too cheesy, _too fucking cheesy._

"And I'm only giving this to you now because I want to put it on you and I am not missing my one chance to turn life into a romcom." Clarke told her, wondering just how _Glee_ was too _Glee._

"It's beautiful." Lexa smiled. "But -"

"It's a piece of Mount Weather. Inside it, I mean -" Clarke felt all the blood in her body shoot straight to her mind, dizzyingly, face too hot and prickly. She'd bought the actual necklace online - gold chain and small, spherical gold cage. At first, it was just because she needed more things to buy Lexa, and she was just going to leave it empty, let her put whatever she wanted inside. But then she'd been hiking with Raven, and there were all the rocks, once part of the mountain, crumbling under her feet, and the thought had just hit her, and at the time it seemed like too good an idea to let slide. Now it was just seeming rapidly sillier and sillier. "I was just thinking about what you were saying that time we did laundry. How much you'd miss it if you ever left this town, and now you don't have to." Clarke swallowed, but all the moisture had abandoned her mouth. "It's stupid, actually. You can put whatever you want in there."

"Clarke," Lexa was smiling more with the rest of her than with her lips, which Clarke guessed shouldn't have made sense, but neither should Lexa, and she was the one thing Clarke did understand. "It's perfect." With the box still in her hand, she leaned in to give her a kiss that blasted all her worry out of the water.

Clarke grinned, and the falcons in her stomach seemed friendly, so she let them swarm, her blood warm and tingling. "Are you sure?"

"Now you're just fishing for compliments." Lexa told her. "I don't know why, you know I'll give them to you anyway."

"Let me put this on you." She took the necklace from Lexa, moving her hair out the way and stringing it around her neck. She could feel her pulse dance beneath her fingers; she was in love with the rhythm of it, and the little orchestra of her breathing. "Shit." Clarke's eyebrows drew into a frown.

"What? Is it caught on my hair?" Lexa turned her head slightly try to see what was going on, and that threw Clarke off even more - only her natural reflexes saved it as her fingers darted out to catch the chain before it slipped off.

"Nope." Clarke told her, stubbornly, fiddling with the catch again. It scraped her cuticle and snapped shut before it got where it was supposed to go. A pathetically indignant noise inadvertantly escaped her lips.

"Do you want me to do it?" She could hear the pre-laugh in Lexa's voice.

"I got this." Clarke insisted, grimly determined. The necklace almost slithered out of her grasp as she failed, one more, to hook it into place. "_Fuck_!" Lexa snorted. "Well, if it's so impossible to put on they should say something on the website!"

"Let me have a go." Lexa tried.

"I was trying to be romantic." Clarke muttered, feeling a bizarre cloud of sulk descend on her as she took a begrudging step back, holding the necklace out to her as Lexa turned around.

Lexa looked as though she was supressing a laugh. She swung the damn thing around her neck, fiddling behind her head for a moment before her hands came away and the chain hung down over her collarbone. Clarke had no idea how she managed to do that. Grounder magic, she supposed. "I think you're very romantic."

"Yeah, well," Clarke muttered. She tried!_ I'm going to sue that website_. "You have to kiss me now and make me feel better."

Lexa's eyes met hers and melted her heart. "Like I wasn't about to anyway."

Clarke felt her smile in every cell of her face, of her body, of her when she leaned in, and they were kissing, beyond the roof, under the same stars they'd mapped from the playground of her childhood. So many weeks after they'd first kissed, and every time Clarke felt that sensation of ressurection - on both sides. Tidal waves, crashing, that glow unfurling, enveloping, the sudden jolt of clarity. Her hands tangled in Lexa's hair without ever asking her brains permission. Her brain didn't seem to be helping anyone these days - and it hadn't from the moment she stepped into that dormitory. She didn't care. _God_. A year ago, she could never have even imagined meeting somebody like Lexa, let alone loving someone like Lexa.

Because that was the thing - there was nobody like Lexa.

"Can the two girls making out in the hallway please keep it down?" Someone yelled, from upstairs, presumably one of Bellamy's other roommates, and then, quieter, "The gooeyness is killing me."

Lexa drew back slowly, and Clarke lingered in the hallway, allowed herself another eternity submerged in the colour of her eyes. Then she took her hand, and lead her back into the living room, and whatever else would come.


End file.
